An Ogden Nash Moment or Two

I wrote poetry from about the age of eleven until thirty. Not sure why I stopped, as it never was intentional. Sometimes I blamed life, other times I thought maybe my "writer's voice" was dead. But below is one version of a poem I wrote in the mid-1970s which found their way into publication (albeit in a limited way.) A university professor who read it compared it to Ogden Nash. But I take credit for it.



                                                      

Consider the lowly bumpy toad

who lives in some dark, dank abode,

and eats his fill of bugs each day

and hibernates the cold away.

If man were like the toad would he

thrive in such mediocrity?

Or change his ways,

remove the dull,

with thought processes in his skull?

Copyright protected 1976