Frog Has No Nerves. Frog Is As

My Husband Sings Baa Baa Black Sheep And We Pretend That All's Certain And Good, That The Marriage Won't End.

The Future Is A Fog That Is Still Hanging Out Over The Sea, A Boat That Floats Home Or Does Not. The Trade Winds Blow Me, And I Do Not Know Where The Land Is; The Waves Fold Over Each Other; They Are In Love With Themselves; Sleeping In Their Own Skin; And I Float Over Them And I Do Not Know About Tomorrow.

You See, We Live In A Cold Climate And Are Not Permitted To Kiss On The Street So I Made Up A Song That Wasn't True. I Made Up A Song Called Marriage.

So I Won't Hang Around In My Hospital Shift, Repeating The Black Mass And All Of It. I Say Live, Live Because Of The Sun, The Dream, The Excitable Gift.

Unless I Can Shake Myself Free Of My Dog, My Flag, Of My Desk, My Mind, I Find Life A Bit Of A Drag. Not Always, Mind You. Usually I'm Like My Frying Pan Useful, Graceful, Sturdy And With No Caper, No Plan.