Thursday, February 02, 2006


This morning's weather has dislodged a limerick (by Kipling of all people) from my subconscious:

There was a small boy of Quebec,
Who was buried in snow to his neck;
When they said, "Are you friz?"
He replied, " Yes, I is -
But we don't call this cold in Quebec."

I wrote a limerick once myself.
There was a young man who sang la
lalala lalala lala
lalala lalala lala

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