Here's a beautiful (and fitting) tribute to our favorite poetry lover, even Sakhmet.
Air Guitarist
by Cicada
I was so lonely and alone
and I was by myself.
I thought my heart was all dried up
and shelved upon the shelf.
I thought I'd always have no man
and all my world would be
the friendship of my bestest friends
who are in number three.
Then came a man with Asian hips
who played the air guitar.
I did not know from whence he came;
my guess was "from afar."
My ears could hardly hear his song;
I heard it in my heart!
My heart that I had thought was dry,
was now moist, like a fart!
Yea, clearly, my heart was alive!
Rekindled by a song!
A song played on an air guitar.
To the Asian, I belong.
5 comments:
I can't believe you changed my original poem to include a fart joke. That is so immature of you. I certainly didn't make that fart joke.
HA! Hahahahaha!
Your true nature has finally been revealed! Now you won't be able to stop making fart jokes. And just when I'm trying to stop (as per Elder Bednar's recent counsel).
Oh, and I would never take the liberty of making a single alteration to your delightful art.
What was the original line?
My heart that I had thought was dry,
Was now moist, like a tart?
Like wet art?
Like a shopping cart
that's been left out in the parking log in the rain?
I just can't remember how it went . . .
BWAH HAH HAHAHAHAHAH!!!!
Oh, there's just no point going on vacation, not when I miss stuff like this.
I am laughing so hard I am crying. And remind me to thank the powers that be that my heart is moister than my farts. It's a win-win, really. So glad I did not put mascara on today.
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