Mason County News
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Wednesday, August 4, 2010 • Posted August 4, 2010

What goes around comes around.

For instance, a poem.

Long ago a reader sent it to Dear Abby.

The San Antonio Express published Dear Abby’s column.

Blan Zesch read that newspaper.

She liked it so much she cut it out.

No one knows how long ago.

Miss Blan recently found it among some old clippings.

And since she was in a cleaning state-of-mind, she thoughtfully put it in an envelope and slipped it under my door.

So now I will recycle the poem into my column.

In The Mason County News.

The paper itself has yellowed over time.

But the "funny punny poem" as Abby called it still delights the reader.

Samuel S. Thorpe Sr. of Townsend, Mass. submitted it.

He stated he would be 88 if he made it to mid-September.

Oh the days dwindle down to a precious few…

By now Mr. Thorpe has long since met his Maker.

But back to the poem.

According to him, it has no title.

He claims the person who wrote it is William Dunkle of East Falmouth, Mass.

So to Mr. Dunkle we give all the credit.

But Mr. Thorpe never revealed where he found this poem.

In any case, here it is:

Where can a man buy a cap for his knee

Or a key to the lock of his hair?

Should your eyes be called an academy

Because there are pupils there?

In the crown of your head, what jewels are found?

Who travels the bridge of your nose?

Could you use in shingling the roof of your mouth

The nails on the ends of your toes?

Could the crook in your elbow be sent to jail?

If so, what did he do?

How can you sharpen your shoulder blades,

I’ll be darned if I know, do you?

Can you sit in the shade of the palm of your hand

And play on the drum of your ear?

Do the calves of our legs eat the corn our toes,

Then why does it grow on the ear?

Makes me think of the limerick.

Historically they were meant to be bawdy.

And in only five lines.

Edward Lear conquered the form.

Although his "Book of Nonsense" is more benign.

And here is mine:

There once was a woman named Blan

Who had a specific plan.

There was cleaning to do,

And clippings she threw,

Except for a poem by some man.

That’s Mason.

Renee Walker is an author, poet, and real estate broker on the square.











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