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IV The Ivory Steeple

James Reaney


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A Miscellany

What a hero I am,
Said Nero to his dam.
Yes, precious, replied she,
You’re a regular epitome
Of what one ought not to be
To be a hero.
Not, did you say, mama?
No, dear, ought.

You bore me, said a young ninny,
With a very lipstick-clogged whinny,
To Jane Austen.
I rather think, said the author of Emma,
That I would,
And that it is, my dear, your dilemma!

Said the famous Vienna physician.
I have operated
On many a metaphysician
And not found
(This is unkind)
Soul or Mind!

God made us in his image
Only duller
As a reflection’s so
In ditch-water
Or dish-water.

We have made God in our image
Only brighter;
What one wishes
When one wishes to be good
Only righter.