"Inspiration by Dylan," sayeth my muse
all these lines without benefit of booze.
Wondering at the deaths of celebrities two
Mike Wallace himself and Thomas Kincaide too.
Alliteration with alacrity towards which I strive,
I'd better behave if I touch a beehive.
Alma mater dreams begot in the spring,
Red Georgian buildings are my kind of bling.
Hunger not I, for the "Hunger Games" hype,
Nor does my hair look very good on Skype.
Irish austerity plan seems not to be working,
sometimes my inner Keynes seems to be lurking.
All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,
All play and no work makes Jack not a real joy.
My brain be tired from Words With Friends,
If I rise too fast I'll get the bends.
I shun the Daily Mail, one of those papers,
I don't need to see those bikini-clad gapers.