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To vaguely amuseAnd banish the bluesWriting clerihewsI would choose.
Mr MerryhewWould ferry youAcross the Thames at BrayOn a tea tray.
I am the word juggler.I juggle the wordslike swords.I slice sensewith poetic license.
Newly baked and fresh todayEat while hot or take away.
The light through the blind is a poem,
the way it illuminates air.
And the shadows that fall
on the floor and the wall
are signs that a poem is there.
The man sitting on the settee,stroking a cat and watching TVisn't me.I am the settee.
In the beginning was the wordand the word is ours:
the names of places,the names of flowers,the name of names,words are ours.