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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required the roots – i.e. genealogy of words long held me (no pun intended) held spell bound e'en upon fertilization of ova and sperm viz – conception, an acute sensory means n'er got drowned out via the bubbling, dribbling, huzzahing... (from within and without the womb) while in utero, especially when me then young spring chick hen ova mum, and cock strutting cock (doodling his due tee) oft testes handsome dad found their coop t'would be increased by another (at that time no means prevailed to foretell gender, but an old wives tale hatched since time immemorial stubbornly persisted if the husband put right heir (ear) to the ground accompanied with petsmart skills of a blood hound a close approximation could be discerned, whether the swelling abdominal mound would yield a son or daughter, which second guess passed thru the umbilical cord shaped grape vine as re noun splendor – giving participants planning a baby shower purchasing and showcasing an infant gewgaw costing no mo' than a best seller by Ezra Pound or a couple rolling stones, preferably those flat versus being round with assessment sans prediction per sex of offspring offered slightly greater hedge Tibet with recent introduction of ultra sound nonetheless genesis (unbeknownst to either parent – trapped in that role for a life time) this fetus took a fancy to imbibing verbalization that transpired between when shine warmed the cockles and muscles of this parasite – ha – expanding his vocabulary prior tummy birth in nine teen hundred and...(th beh so thee ya haint tell in – go ask aunt Roadie) or...find someone name Stein beck, and give yaw self a pat on the back faw trine plotting a tentative addition to family tree or (what would turn out tubby more apropos) a vine, cuz ma late mum referred tomb me as her little monkey who when born deeply engrossed reading about urine thence, when the pediatric doctor snatched the book – BOY DID I WHINE which out shrilled any wailing police car, or emergency hospital siren thus...i got christened RED (for short), yet code named 120 db which translates as the decibel threshold for pain even afflicting the dead poet Byron.
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