Pied Died --

at the Age of Obvious to a Three-Year-Old "All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise him." -- a romanticist of faith "Plus praise 'him' for the toilet brush -- not to mention intelligently designed deodorizers." -- a Realist of Reason * * * I hate all things that spring up after rain, like spring or rhymesters singing spring has sprung, nor praise I one small fallen finch's pain or glory in a dappled dried cow dung. Yet loathe I all things counter, all things strange, all things original, and all things spare, from horses plowed till dying from the mange to infant care to biowarfare ware. A rainbow trout on hook I straight protest, malignant moles and freckles full despise, the fatal chestnut allergen detest and sprung "sprung rhythms" smoothly satirize -- since who knows how to best end writer's block but "he" whose manly beauty dead things mock. * * * a dedication of Respect for the Pain of countless conscious, feeling beings dead -- in addition to dying -- continuously a revolving helios sonnet shakespearean satire menippean on the common, sentimental, ignorant belief in "supernatural" Superdaddy march, 2023 -- yet still arriving with each pied spring (aside from hope eterne) a low estimation of 10 quintillion (10,000,000,000,000,000,000) super-duper bugs