"Bet you can't tell a
gramma joke in a sonnet,"
he challenged. He lost.
For David Graham
A hundred pounds of innocence, her first
Full day on campus, lost and late, she sat
Herself beside another student immersed
In nothing and asked,“Where is Ferncliff at?”
“Here at Wittenberg,” the student sniffed,
“It’s in the very worst of taste to end
A sentence with a preposition.” Miffed,
She stared a moment trying hard to bend
Her expectations around remarks so rude
And lips and eyes that smiled with such a sneer.
But she was not the sort to sit and brood.
She warmly smiled with all her native cheer
As something came to her she thought would work:
“All right,” she said, “Where’s Ferncliff at, you jerk?”
My strength is as the strength of eight --
My heart is nearly pure.
Last edited by Marcus Bales : 02-06-2012 at 11:29 PM.