Mr. Queasy, the fish.

Time flees mortal hands,
rapidly slipping away;
just like grains of sand.

se escapa el tiempo,
como granos de arena
entre los dedos.

le temps s’envole
doucement entre les doigts
—sables du désert.

just like paper-boats,
people wander off— adrift;
caught up in a stream.

There once was a man from Nantucket
who took a TI from his pocket.
He wanted some Pie,
he punch’d in SHIFT '∏';
without Pie he went back to Nantucket.

Today I am here,
but tomorrow I am not.
…see you in four years!

Lo, the grand visage:
sheepish clouds run in a craze;
the moon is ablaze.

The heavy gaze feasts,
rejoicing on the details;
lo, sublime moonlight!

Mr. Queasy, the fish.
If only he could have a wish…
to polish drafts, just a few
in lieu of a measly clerihew.

An instant of peace;
The caress of zephyr comes,
reminder of life.

Inauspicious clouds,

tearing the calm firmament,

announce storm to come.

A warm autumn day
the sun perches at zenith,
kindling thoughts of yore.