| Oscar Wilde Poem (for 02/02/01): "The Box" I. He did not wear his scarlet coat For fear that rain would wet it And thus he did not wear his hat (He simply didn't get it) I came up to him in pouring rain And asked if he did fret it That now his head was soaked and cold Like a great big wet sponge And his shirt was dripping wet As if he took a plunge For reply, he adressed me, "It cleans my face of grunge." I laughed at his brilliant reply And at his sparkling wit But angrily did he respond He threw a hissy fit. He wound his arm up for the punch... And WHAM! My face was hit! II. I must have flown for several blocks; I guess I'll never know... But he really cleaned my clocks With his earth-shattering blow! I landed in a cardboard box... Away from the wet and rainy glow. III. Now I was cramped inside that box I was all tangled now... My nose mingled with my left heel And my foot was in my jowl... But yet no one was near to hear My most muffled yowl... I now regret my fateful err That man was quite insane He must have been, I do declare All scrambled was his brain... Why else, I ask of you, would he Subject me to such pain? IV. There is no solace on the day When incarcerated I am The man yelled "For 10,000 years you shall pay..." "For your insolence, unworthy ham!" How full filled my heart with anguished dismay And now I was stuck in a jam. I was cramped in that one small space I was as cramped as ever A chirp of fear escaped my face As I did fear that never Would I escape that cardboard place Unless I was quite clever. I gasped for air, I knew not where I would get such a thing in flocks It really stunk, to have my face So near, so near my socks I was convinced, the time had come, To think outside the box. |