Pa was forced to be a hobo
Because he played the oboe
And the oboe it is clearly understood
Is an ill wind that nobody blows good
Pa was forced to be a hobo
Because he played the oboe
And the oboe it is clearly understood
Is an ill wind that nobody blows good
To begin at the beginning: It is Spring, moonless night in the small town, starless and bible-black, the cobblestreets silent…
We didn't have metaphors in our day. We didn't beat about the bush.
To a Goose If thou didst feed on western plains of yore; Or waddle wide with flat and flabby feet…