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Poem	I sit in the dusk. I am all alone. Enter a child and an ice-cream cone. A parent is easily beguiled By sight of this coniferous child. The friendly embers warmer gleam, The cone begins to drip ice cream. Cones are composed of many a vitamin. My lap is not the place to bitamin. Although my raiment is not chinchilla, I flinch to see it become vanilla. Coniferous child, when vanilla melts I’d rather it melted somewhere else. Exit child with remains of cone. I sit in the dusk. I am all alone, Muttering spells like an angry Druid, Alone, in the dusk, with the cleaning fluid.
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