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It takes more than a wish to catch a fish you take the hook you add the bait you concentrate and then you wait you wait     you wait but not a bite the fish don’t have an appetite so tell them what good bait you’ve got and how your bait can hit the spot this works a whole lot better than a wish if you really want to catch a fish

The crocodile, with cunning smile, sat in the dentist’s chair. He said, “Right here and everywhere my teeth require repair.” The dentist’s face was turning white. He quivered, quaked and shook. He muttered, “I suppose I’m going to have to take a look.” “I want you”, Crocodile declared, “to do the back ones first. The molars at the very back are easily the worst.” He opened wide his massive jaws. It was a fearsome sight— At least three hundred pointed teeth, all sharp and shining white. The dentist kept himself well clear. He stood two yards away. He chose the longest probe he had to search out the decay. “I said to do the back ones first!” the Crocodile called out. “You’re much too far away, dear sir, to see what you’re about. To do the back ones properly you’ve got to put your head Deep down inside my great big mouth,” the grinning Crocky said. The poor old dentist wrung his hands and, weeping in despair, He cried, “No no! I see them all extremely well from here!” Just then, in burst a lady, in her hands a golden chain. She cried, “Oh Croc, you naughty boy, you’re playing tricks again!” “Watch out!” the dentist shrieked and started climbing up the wall. “He’s after me! He’s after you! He’s going to eat us all!” “Don’t be a twit,” the lady said, and flashed a gorgeous smile. “He’s harmless. He’s my little pet, my lovely crocodile.”

In England once there lived a big And wonderfully clever pig. To everybody it was plain That Piggy had a massive brain. He worked out sums inside his head, There was no book he hadn’t read, He knew what made an airplane fly, He knew how engines worked and why. He knew all this, but in the end One question drove him round the bend: He simply couldn’t puzzle out What LIFE was really all about. What was the reason for his birth? Why was he placed upon this earth? His giant brain went round and round. Alas, no answer could be found, Till suddenly one wondrous night, All in a flash, he saw the light. He jumped up like a ballet dancer And yelled, “By gum, I’ve got the answer!” “They want my bacon slice by slice “To sell at a tremendous price! “They want my tender juicy chops “To put in all the butchers’ shops! “They want my pork to make a roast “And that’s the part’ll cost the most! “They want my sausages in strings! “They even want my chitterlings! “The butcher’s shop! The carving knife! “That is the reason for my life!” Such thoughts as these are not designed To give a pig great peace of mind. Next morning, in comes Farmer Bland, A pail of pigswill in his hand, And Piggy with a mighty roar, Bashes the farmer to the floor . . . Now comes the rather grizzly bit So let’s not make too much of it, Except that you must understand That Piggy did eat Farmer Bland, He ate him up from head to toe, Chewing the pieces nice and slow. It took an hour to reach the feet, Because there was so much to eat, And when he’d finished, Pig, of course, Felt absolutely no remorse. Slowly he scratched his brainy head And with a little smile, he said, “I had a fairly powerful hunch “That he might have me for his lunch. “And so, because I feared the worst, “I thought I’d better eat him first.”

I was angry with my friend; I told my wrath, my wrath did end. I was angry with my foe: I told it not, my wrath did grow. And I waterd it in fears, Night & morning with my tears: And I sunned it with smiles, And with soft deceitful wiles. And it grew both day and night. Till it bore an apple bright. And my foe beheld it shine, And he knew that it was mine. And into my garden stole, When the night had veild the pole; In the morning glad I see; My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

I imagine him getting up early to make his own coffee. Reading the papers. No plans for the day. Turning on the radio a little louder than it has to be. Alone at home. Then the phone ringing, he goes to answer it and finds me on the line. His son, a grown man now, calling from another country, increasingly distant, more and more a stranger. The call cheers him up, nonetheless. He says, “How are you? How’s everything?” He really wants to know. He is my father, after all. He is growing old. But I don’t know where to start. I want to tell him that I love him and that I’m sorry I have to live my own life now. But these are not the things I know how to say from a distance. These are things I may never learn to say. So instead we speak of smaller daily things, and soon the brief connection between us will unmake itself, and expire.

The fist clenched round my heart loosens a little, and I gasp brightness; but it tightens again. When have I ever not loved the pain of love? But this has moved past love to mania. This has the strong clench of the madman, this is gripping the ledge of unreason, before plunging howling into the abyss. Hold hard then, heart. This way at least you live.

             "Villains!" I shrieked, "I admit the deed! --- tear up the planks! --- here, here! --- It is the beating of his hideous heart!"