Anyway, here's a poem, inspired both by Paca's comment and, alas, my current nasal condition:
Ode to Boogers
The boogers that sit in my nose
Resisting the firmest of blows
Are thoroughly überdried
Heck, they are petrified!
At least seventeen on the Mohs.
The rhythm is a little off, but the meaning is very deep. Yes, I know it's a limerick, but "Limerick to Boogers?"
Anyway, it is really cold. I honestly can't remember the last time we hit February and there wasn't a single Schneestolz or Schneeglöggli or Crocus up. A few things are just barely peeping up.
These bottom sprouts are yellow because the girls raked the yard three weeks ago when we had a brief warm spell and the snow melted. That's how little sun we've had since then! Three weeks they've had. I had to turn the flash off on the camera. It's so grey, it kept trying to flash. That was at 10:30 this morning, not twilight or something.
The middle ones are daffodils. I wonder if they will make it up by Easter. Only we like a wee bit o' flowery stuff with our annual Pagan Reproduction Day celebrations. >:]
If I make peace with the boogers, will we have to sign a Nasal Treaty, do you think?
(Sorry. I needed the laugh.)
