There once was a man from Thessalia
Who asked Socrates, inter alia,
“Is virtue a thing that is born, like a king,
Or taught, by some teachers who’d fail ya?”
O Splendid little neti pot:
When sinuses are overwrought
When nostrils are be-rimed with snot
Your wondrous fountains hit the spot.
With water neither cold nor hot
And head inclined til neck is taut
Like some strange peering ocelot
I take you like a god’s spigot.
Now some would claim your use is fraught
And risks cerebral fungal rot
But when I rise from my sick-cot
No other treatment have I sought.
I go to work with hair in coif
A baseball cap I would not doff
Lest passers by should laugh and scoff
At where my hair is falling off.
The lawn, despite the dew darauf,
Makes sprinklers spray from hidden trough
And soak this passing hatted toff.
Please turn the God-damned sprinklers off.
Server, server, running warm
Warmest server in the farm:
Will an insulated hand
Unplug you, ere you come to harm?
Or shall you shower o’er the land
Your circuits, like a flaming brand
In fierce ferromagnetic storm,
Your silicon burned down to sand?