Skipping to the end, because I must share the earworm, that came to me completely out of the blue this morning as I arrived at work. No provocation. None. I hearby present the ancient Orowheat jingle:

Good morning! Good muffin! Life's sweet with Orowheat. Good morning, good muffin, to you!

runs away and hides.

What? No, I am not the devil.

Bye.

It does not earworm me, because I do not know it. You have failed.

I don't know it either, unless it's to the tune of "Good Morning" from Singin' in the Rain (is it Singin' or Singing?), which it certainly fits.

Thanks a lot -t. I didn't have the tune, now it is stuck even if that is not the right tune.

Blast...

Nora, what color is your living room?

I'm good at sharing earworms, even the ones that aren't mine.

living room color:

a deep rich yellow.

Waves a muppet wave adieu to Lilty

Safe travel vibes: ~~~~{{{{{{(((((((((

I love Walt Whitman. I've put this bit on sympathy cards before:

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?
They are alive and well somewhere;
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death;
And if ever there was, it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.
All goes onward and outward—nothing collapses;
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Nora's living room is the same color as mine.

Lovely poems.

I have trouble with free verse. I can't remember it at all, and I have trouble even comprehending it a lot of the time. it just swooshes right through my brain leaving behind a vague feeling of "That was nice. What was it?"

Actually, that's most poetry. It's often too pretty for me to get past the sound of the words and find the meaning.