It is true that the last decade and more of our marriage has been my favorite time, my favorite marriage. But all our marriages have had their magic. Especially the two marriages with the kids. Josh and Mimi are remarkable human beings and it was a joy to know them as they grew. I'm not sure how much we had to do with it, but they turned out amazing!
Whenever I think of them, I feel blessed. It was the normal issues of growing up with them--lack of self-confidence, trying to fit in, rebellion, all that. But being with them as adults: Josh will turn 39 this year and Mimi 36--has made all the angst and worry and confusion worth while.
Josh and his wife, Cathy Chen, have given us three remarkable granddaughters: Emma and Morgan, 7, and Tegan 4. They all live in Baltimore where Josh is a lawyer with a high-powered firm and Cathy is a lawyer for The House of Ruth and defends people who have been abused.
Mimi lives in Brooklyn and will be married in October to Tim McCarthy. They've been a couple for 12 years, so they know what they're getting into. Mimi just started a new Job as Development Officer for Jacob's Pillow. If you don't know about it, google it and watch the award winning documentary. Tim works for Linked In and does whatever it is he does.
Come October, I'll have be the celebrant at the marriage of both my children. (I would have rather walked Mimi down the aisle but I'm not sure that would have happened in their post modern service.)
And I've baptized each of my granddaughters.
That's pretty neat. And Bern's and my marriage when we were centered around Josh and Mimi growing up in Charleston, WV, New Haven and Cheshire was wondrous.
Mimi once commented on how, when she's here, she can't avoid her younger selves. There are so many photos on our walls of them growing up it's kind of ridiculous. But I walk through this house, where I've lived longer than any other place, and I see them growing and I remember the wonder and the pain of their growing.
So, even though this marriage--the empty nest one--is my favorite, the marriages with the kids had it's own magic and it's own disruption and it's own wonder.
Just wanted to make it clear that 'getting rid of the kids' isn't what makes this last marriage the best. That marriage, broken up as it was, is what makes this one so special. We walk through our house and are constantly reminded of the frustrating but incredible privilege it was to share a good part of our lives with those two marvelous creatures that were once our little children. I don't know how we made it through all that, and I know it turned out better than Bern and my skills and knowledge could have made it.
Josh and Mimi, Lordy, lordy, what a long strange trip it's been....
I love them more than they know...probably more than they can know....
Friday, March 7, 2014
Second most read post
This post has been read over 100 times more than 4 Jesus', the third most read post. I'm happy this is one people have gotten others to read....
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
43 and counting....
Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary. We were married in 1970 at Our Lady
of Victory Roman Catholic Church in Gary, West Virginia. We were
babies--23 and 20--and didn't know any better.
It was the first time ever that an Episcopal priest was on the altar at Our Lady of Victory. "Pop" Bailey was there, along with Fr. Cook. And we got married--Bern and me.
The reception was at the Gary Country Club, that I had boycotted as a Senior in High School because the Senior Prom was not open to the five black members of our class. There was no dinner, only hoers devours and wedding cake and alcohol in the basement for selected members of my family and all of Bern's family, leaving weak punch for most of my tee-totaling family. It all lasted about an hour and then we were off in my father's Ford since I had wrecked my car on the way for a second blood test a week before, running into a lake in Princeton when I misunderstood a truck's signaling--which I thought meant "Pass Me" (a message truckers often send in West Virgina since mountains loom and there is difficulty getting around them) and which really meant, "I'm turning left". There was a second blood test needed because they tested me for diabetes the first time rather than whatever it was the test was supposed to be about.
Forty-three years. Amazing.
I sometimes tell people I've been married five times but always to the same woman.
And that's true, accurate, real.
The first marriage was two children in love. That lasted a year or more.
The second marriage was Bern going to New York to act and me staying in Morgantown to be a social worker. Two years of that.
Then there was the 'children marriage', interrupted 11 years in by a separation that lasted several months.
Then, the second 'children marriage', lasting until Josh and Mimi were well away and on their own.
The fifth marriage was what we have now. The Empty Nest, it's just you and me again marriage, which has become the longest and best of them all.
God, I love my life and my wife and 'our life' for the last dozen plus years.
I was of the generation who thought we should "live fast, love hard, die young and leave a beautiful memory". But let me tell you, the last 18 years or so have been the best of my life. Bern and I have settled into what many would consider a boring and very routine life. And it is. And I love the rut we've been in. It is simply the life I've always wanted to live. Especially since I retired. We live to the songs of Maggie, our parakeet, the needs of Luke, our cat, and the wonderment of having a Puli dog named Bela. We read constantly, watch TV from time to time, always eat dinner together, seldom need to discuss anything since we know each other so well, and love each other in a way that is deeper and more profound than all the passion and lust that came before.
Forty three years with Bern (plus the years before--I was 17 and she was 14 when we met in Latin class) so that makes our time together 49 years...is exactly how I would have wanted to spend almost a half-century. Exactly the way--though it didn't always seem that way--but just right, just wondrous, just perfect.
43 years ago tomorrow, two children who didn't know any better, got married. And through all the marriages we have had, we have arrived at the best one, the one we meant to have when we said 'I do' four decades and a bit ago.
I realized a few years ago that Bern is not 'the Love of my Life'....In a real way, she 'IS my life', for better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health...for 43 years and whatever years the gods of marriage indulge us with in the future.
(I remember the child of 14 I met when I was 17. We first kissed under the bleachers at a high school football game. She was ethereal, mystical, foreign, unknown to me. A Hungarian/Italian child kissing a WASP of forever generations. I remember that first kiss--the kiss when I knew, against all odds and all reason, that somehow she and I would share our lives in ways we could never imagine but that would endure. I can't tell you how humbled and delighted and wonder-struck I am that I was right. A life with Bern is worth two or three or more in some other circumstance.)
Forty-three years and counting tomorrow....
Imagine my wonder, my gratitude, my joy......
It was the first time ever that an Episcopal priest was on the altar at Our Lady of Victory. "Pop" Bailey was there, along with Fr. Cook. And we got married--Bern and me.
The reception was at the Gary Country Club, that I had boycotted as a Senior in High School because the Senior Prom was not open to the five black members of our class. There was no dinner, only hoers devours and wedding cake and alcohol in the basement for selected members of my family and all of Bern's family, leaving weak punch for most of my tee-totaling family. It all lasted about an hour and then we were off in my father's Ford since I had wrecked my car on the way for a second blood test a week before, running into a lake in Princeton when I misunderstood a truck's signaling--which I thought meant "Pass Me" (a message truckers often send in West Virgina since mountains loom and there is difficulty getting around them) and which really meant, "I'm turning left". There was a second blood test needed because they tested me for diabetes the first time rather than whatever it was the test was supposed to be about.
Forty-three years. Amazing.
I sometimes tell people I've been married five times but always to the same woman.
And that's true, accurate, real.
The first marriage was two children in love. That lasted a year or more.
The second marriage was Bern going to New York to act and me staying in Morgantown to be a social worker. Two years of that.
Then there was the 'children marriage', interrupted 11 years in by a separation that lasted several months.
Then, the second 'children marriage', lasting until Josh and Mimi were well away and on their own.
The fifth marriage was what we have now. The Empty Nest, it's just you and me again marriage, which has become the longest and best of them all.
God, I love my life and my wife and 'our life' for the last dozen plus years.
I was of the generation who thought we should "live fast, love hard, die young and leave a beautiful memory". But let me tell you, the last 18 years or so have been the best of my life. Bern and I have settled into what many would consider a boring and very routine life. And it is. And I love the rut we've been in. It is simply the life I've always wanted to live. Especially since I retired. We live to the songs of Maggie, our parakeet, the needs of Luke, our cat, and the wonderment of having a Puli dog named Bela. We read constantly, watch TV from time to time, always eat dinner together, seldom need to discuss anything since we know each other so well, and love each other in a way that is deeper and more profound than all the passion and lust that came before.
Forty three years with Bern (plus the years before--I was 17 and she was 14 when we met in Latin class) so that makes our time together 49 years...is exactly how I would have wanted to spend almost a half-century. Exactly the way--though it didn't always seem that way--but just right, just wondrous, just perfect.
43 years ago tomorrow, two children who didn't know any better, got married. And through all the marriages we have had, we have arrived at the best one, the one we meant to have when we said 'I do' four decades and a bit ago.
I realized a few years ago that Bern is not 'the Love of my Life'....In a real way, she 'IS my life', for better or worse, for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health...for 43 years and whatever years the gods of marriage indulge us with in the future.
(I remember the child of 14 I met when I was 17. We first kissed under the bleachers at a high school football game. She was ethereal, mystical, foreign, unknown to me. A Hungarian/Italian child kissing a WASP of forever generations. I remember that first kiss--the kiss when I knew, against all odds and all reason, that somehow she and I would share our lives in ways we could never imagine but that would endure. I can't tell you how humbled and delighted and wonder-struck I am that I was right. A life with Bern is worth two or three or more in some other circumstance.)
Forty-three years and counting tomorrow....
Imagine my wonder, my gratitude, my joy......
Thursday, March 6, 2014
3rd most read post
The top three posts are by far the top 3! This is the 3rd most read.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Knowing four Jesus'
OK, I just completed a class at UConn called "Reading the Gospels
side-by-side" and wrote something to read at the end of the last
session. Someone suggested I publish it on my blog.
So here it is.
So here it is.
LOOKING FOR JESUS
Most of us are looking for Jesus.
One place we could expect to find Jesus is in the Four Gospels. So we
turn to them. If we read them critically and carefully, what we discover
is not Jesus but Four distinct Jesus'.
When confronted with that reality, there are two obvious reactions.
Either I (I'll speak only for myself here and invite you to ponder your
reaction)...either I despair and give up my search OR I walk the road
with each of the Gospel writer's Jesus' and glean what I can from the
four of them.
When I am doubtful, it is Mark's Jesus I want to walk beside because he
too struggled with doubt. He spends time with the wild beasts. He can't
seem to understand what is being asked of him by God. He agonizes in
the Garden. He feels abandoned on the cross. Mark's Jesus is a good
companion in times of doubt.
When I am confused, it is Matthew's Jesus I turn to. Matthew's Jesus is
jerked away from his home to a foreign land. His earthly father relies
on dreams and visions of angels in his confusion. The Magi visit him and
give him great gifts. Matthew's Jesus knows that traditions and
boundaries and scripture can help in times of confusion. Matthew's Jesus
knows right from wrong, truth from Falsehood, the sheep from the goats.
Matthew's Jesus stands on the mountain top and speaks wisdom to those
who are in darkness and confusion. The Jesus of Matthew has correctives
to my confusion.
John's Jesus is my traveling companion when things are going well and I
am feeling confident. John's Jesus is certain and resolute and
convinced of his purpose and his way. John's Jesus has an ego to match
my own. Nothing much bothers him. His eyes are on the prize. His feet
are firmly on the ground even as his soul soars to heavenly places. In
'good times' John's Jesus is the ideal companion. He can validate my
confidence, inspire me to even greater things, teach me that I am loved
and meant to love others. He breathes on me and wishes me “Shalom”,
which means fullness and health and hopefulness. There is nothing like
the Jesus of John when God's in his heaven and all is right with the
world. Walking the road with him just reaffirms my optimism and
hopefulness and sense of well-being.
But when I suffer, when I am in pain, only Luke's Jesus will do. He
will walk with me to Emmaus and calm my fears and set my heart of fire.
The breathless, timeless songs and poetry of Luke soothe me, heal me.
Luke's Jesus is the healer, the non-anxious presence, the font of all
Compassion. Luke's Jesus walks with those in distress, in pain, in need.
Luke's Jesus is constantly standing with the marginalized and outcasts.
Luke's Jesus teaches us on the same level where we stand. He is always
on my level, near me, suffering with me, forgiving me, holding me near.
Luke's Jesus walks the road of our world's suffering. He knows me
through and through. He bears my burden. He lightens my load. He touches
me and makes me whole.
Seeking Jesus and finding four is 'good news'. Four companions on the
Way to the Lover of souls, four brothers with various gifts for various
needs, four faces of God, four revelations of the Almighty.
A hymn from my childhood says, “What a friend we have in Jesus....” It
is wondrous and precious to have a friend. But to have four, all of whom
love me and care for me and walk my road with me. What could be better
than that???
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
4th most viewed blog
(The most viewed posts--7-4--are all within 50 views of each other. #'s 1, 2 and 3 have 100's of views separating them. Go figure. So 3 posts were viewed many more times than any others and 7 through 4 were among several dozen in the over a hundred under two hundred views.
This is another one I'm not sure why so many people viewed it. It isn't particularly clever and not profound in any sense. Like I said before, I'm beginning to wonder about my viewing audience.)
10. Linsey Lohan will not be on Letterman tonight.
9. I will not watch Letterman tonight, or ever.
8. It was warmer today and will, I'm told, be even warmer tomorrow.
7. I actually already planned the first session of my Mary of Magdala class at U Conn, Waterbury for March
6. I haven't had asthma all winter (knock on wood)
5. I'm married to Bern.
4. I have a bad Puli dog, the best cat in the Universe and two wonderful birds.
3. NPR is on all the time.
2. I'm not Lindsy Lohan OR David Letterman.
1. My President is smarter than I am (as it should be) plus my governor is too.
This is another one I'm not sure why so many people viewed it. It isn't particularly clever and not profound in any sense. Like I said before, I'm beginning to wonder about my viewing audience.)
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
The 10 top reasons I'm joyful today
9. I will not watch Letterman tonight, or ever.
8. It was warmer today and will, I'm told, be even warmer tomorrow.
7. I actually already planned the first session of my Mary of Magdala class at U Conn, Waterbury for March
6. I haven't had asthma all winter (knock on wood)
5. I'm married to Bern.
4. I have a bad Puli dog, the best cat in the Universe and two wonderful birds.
3. NPR is on all the time.
2. I'm not Lindsy Lohan OR David Letterman.
1. My President is smarter than I am (as it should be) plus my governor is too.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
Fifth most viewed post
(Go figure why this one is the 5th most viewed post--this makes me really wonder about who's reading this....)
Saturday, September 17, 2011
400th Post
I just realized this is my 400th post on Under the Castor Oil Tree. I'm
too intimidated to go back and read the first one. Jeter got hit 3000
and Mo got save 600 a few days ago. Now I've got blog 400. Who knew?
Since I waxed semi-eloquent on the weather in West Virginia, I decided I'd do the 400th blog with my favorite West Virginia joke.
A Washington lobbyist grew tired of the fast lane and retired to a cabin in the mountains of West Virginia. He couldn't see another house from where he lived and he was delighted with his new life. He read and wrote and ate simply. He couldn't have been happier.
But on the very day he began to feel lonely for the first time, about three months into his wilderness retreat, there was a knock at his door.
When he opened the door he was confronted by a huge, hairy mountain man.
"Hey there," the man said, "I'm your nearest neighbor. I live over the ridge of that second mountain out there to the west and I've come to invite you to a party."
The city man thought that might just be the best thing to cure his newly arrived loneliness--a party in the mountains.
"I'd love to come," he said to the Mountaineer.
"I hav' to warn you," the native said, "there'll be some drinkin'."
"I like a drink from time to time," the city guy replied.
"And there'll prob'ly be some fightin'," his guest told him.
"Well alcohol will do that," said the man from Washington.
"And, last but not least," the West Virginian told him, "there will most likely be some sex."
The city guy wasn't ready for that but he knew he was a stranger in a strange land, so he agreed and said, "well, I understand that might happen."
The mountain man gave him directions to his house, just a mountain or two over.
"Well," the DC guy said, trying to fit in to the culture, "what should I wear?"
"Dudn't matter much," the huge Hill-Billie told him, "it'll jist be you and me...."
Since I waxed semi-eloquent on the weather in West Virginia, I decided I'd do the 400th blog with my favorite West Virginia joke.
A Washington lobbyist grew tired of the fast lane and retired to a cabin in the mountains of West Virginia. He couldn't see another house from where he lived and he was delighted with his new life. He read and wrote and ate simply. He couldn't have been happier.
But on the very day he began to feel lonely for the first time, about three months into his wilderness retreat, there was a knock at his door.
When he opened the door he was confronted by a huge, hairy mountain man.
"Hey there," the man said, "I'm your nearest neighbor. I live over the ridge of that second mountain out there to the west and I've come to invite you to a party."
The city man thought that might just be the best thing to cure his newly arrived loneliness--a party in the mountains.
"I'd love to come," he said to the Mountaineer.
"I hav' to warn you," the native said, "there'll be some drinkin'."
"I like a drink from time to time," the city guy replied.
"And there'll prob'ly be some fightin'," his guest told him.
"Well alcohol will do that," said the man from Washington.
"And, last but not least," the West Virginian told him, "there will most likely be some sex."
The city guy wasn't ready for that but he knew he was a stranger in a strange land, so he agreed and said, "well, I understand that might happen."
The mountain man gave him directions to his house, just a mountain or two over.
"Well," the DC guy said, trying to fit in to the culture, "what should I wear?"
"Dudn't matter much," the huge Hill-Billie told him, "it'll jist be you and me...."
Monday, March 3, 2014
6th most viewed post
(The sixth most viewed post takes us back to June of 2011. Again, I have no idea why this engaged more readers than 870 others, but it did.)
They're out there tonight--the fireflies--in the mulberry tree just
beyond our fence where the groundhogs come in the late summer to eat
mulberries that have fermented and make them drunk. A drunk groundhog is
a wonder to behold!
And the lightening bugs are in our yard as well. I sat and watched them blink for 20 minutes tonight.
My dear friend, Harriet, wrote me an email about lightening bugs after my blog about them. If I'm more adroit at technology than I think I am, I'm going to put that email here.
Fireflies,
more the pity, live only a fraction of a second to the time that we
humans live. They will be gone from the mulberry tree and my back yard
in a few weeks, never to be seen again. But the years and years we live
are, in a profound way, only a few blinks, a few flares, a few flashes
in the economy of the universe. We should live them well and appreciate
each moment. Really.
One of the unexpected blessings of having been a priest for so long is the moments, the flashes, I've gotten to spend with 'the holy ones', those about to pass on from this life.
Hey, if you woke up this morning you're ahead of a lot of folks. Don't waste the moment.
(I told Harriet and she agreed, that we would have been blessed beyond measure to have walked down in that meadow while the silent lightening lit the sky to be with the fire-flies, to have them hover around us, light on our arms, in our hair, on our clothes, be one with them....flashing, blinking, sharing their flares of light. Magic.)
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Yes, Virginia, there are lightening bugs in Connecticut
And the lightening bugs are in our yard as well. I sat and watched them blink for 20 minutes tonight.
My dear friend, Harriet, wrote me an email about lightening bugs after my blog about them. If I'm more adroit at technology than I think I am, I'm going to put that email here.
Jim, I just read your blog and have my own firefly story. Before we went to Maine,
before 6/20, one of those nights of powerful thunderstorms, I was awakened at 10PM
and then again at 2AM by flashes of lightning followed by cracks of thunder - the
kind that make me shoot out of bed - and pounding rain. And then at 4:30AM there
was just lightning, silent. The silence and light was profound. I kept waiting
for sound. I couldn't quite believe in heat lightning in June, so I got out of bed
and looked out the window. There I could see the sky, filled with silent lightning
bursts. And under it, our meadow, filled with lightning bugs (as we call them) or
fireflies, flashing in response. I've never seen anything like it. I can't remember
the last time I saw a lightning bug. And then your blog. Is this, too, part of
global warming? Are you and I being transported back to the warmer climes of
our youth, West Virginia and Texas? Well, if it means lightning bugs, the future
won't be all bad.
I did do it, by gum....
So the lightening bugs are blinking, as we are, you and I.
Blinking and flashing and living. You and I.
Here's the thing, I've been thinking about a poem I wrote 4 years
ago or so. I used to leave St. John's and go visit folks in the hospital or nursing home or their own home
on my way to my home. Somehow the blinking of the fireflies has reminded me of that. So, I'll try, once more
to be more media savvy than I think I am and share it with you.
I DRIVE HOME
I drive home through pain, through suffering,
through death itself.
I drive home through Cat-scans and blood tests
and X-rays and Pet-scans (whatever they are)
and through consultations of surgeons and oncologists
and even more exotic flora with medical degrees.
I drive home through hospitals and houses
and the wondrous work of hospice nurses
and the confusion of dozens more educated than me.
Dressed in green scrubs and Transfiguration white coats,
they discuss the life or death of people I love.
And they hate, more than anything, to lose the hand
to the greatest Poker Player ever, the one with all the chips.
And, here’s the joke, they always lose in the end—
the River Card turns it all bad and Death wins.
So, while they consult and add artificial poison
to the Poison of Death—shots and pills and IV’s
of poison—I drive home and stop in vacant rooms
and wondrous houses full of memories
and dispense my meager, medieval medicine
of bread and wine and oil.
Sometimes I think…sometimes I think…
I should not drive home at all
since I stop in hospitals and houses to bring my pitiful offering
to those one step, one banana peel beneath their foot,
from meeting the Lover of Souls.
I do not hate Death. I hate dying, but not Death.
But it is often too much for me, stopping on the way home
to press the wafer into their quaking hands;
to lift the tiny, pewter cup of bad port wine to their trembling lips;
and to smear their foreheads with fragrant oil
while mumbling much rehearsed words and wishing them
whole and well and eternal.
I believe in God only around the edges.
But when I drive home, visiting the dying,
I’m the best they’ll get of all that.
And when they hold my hand with tears in their eyes
and thank me so profoundly, so solemnly, with such sweet terror
in their voices, then I know.
Driving home and stopping there is what I’m meant to do.
A little bread, a little wine and some sweet smelling oil
may be—if not enough—just what was missing.
I’m driving home, driving home, stopping to touch the hand of Death.
Perhaps that is all I can do.
I tell myself that, driving home, blinded by pain and tears,
having been with Holy Ones.
8/2007 jgb
Someone once told me, "We're all dying, you know. It's just a matter of timing...."
One of the unexpected blessings of having been a priest for so long is the moments, the flashes, I've gotten to spend with 'the holy ones', those about to pass on from this life.
Hey, if you woke up this morning you're ahead of a lot of folks. Don't waste the moment.
(I told Harriet and she agreed, that we would have been blessed beyond measure to have walked down in that meadow while the silent lightening lit the sky to be with the fire-flies, to have them hover around us, light on our arms, in our hair, on our clothes, be one with them....flashing, blinking, sharing their flares of light. Magic.)
Kasmir on Christianity
(OK, going through these old writings is dangerous--I come across stuff that shocks me. I would never write this long, 8 beats to a line poem today. It's a bit snarky and a tad disrespectful of differences in religions that I've left far behind. But it is funny, so I'm going to let you read it. Since it was written on yellow legal pad paper, I'd date it from sometime in college between 1965 and 1969.)
Kasmir
On Christianity
“Now
let me get this straight,” he said,
while
sitting upright on his bed,
“Though
what you tell me may be true,
I
have this question to ask you.”
Wise
Kasmir smiled because I winced,
And
to his argument commenced:
“This
Jesus man you preach to me,
a
god or man—which will he be?
For
now you say he's son of Jove,
who
once the devil's foot did clove;
who
did the earth create quite eased,
inventing
creatures as he pleased.
To
twice destroy them with his ire
(with
water once, someday with fire)
and
saved a remnant of the few,
to
give to them the name of Jew.
And
this great god did trod the earth,
surcease
of sorrow not of mirth
(though
Zeus, I hear, did oft dare fate
with
fairest nymphs to copulate!
But
I forget, he not your One,
your
god is whole devoid of fun.)”
Kasmir
smiled his mystic smile,
“I've
thought on this for quite a while.
At
any rate, Christ walked around
and
legend holds passed farm and town.
And
yet no footprints can I find
prove
him to be of gait divine.
But
at that point you change your thought
and
say he's human with no fault.
Such
contradiction once I saw
and
that was in your Golden Law.
Born
in a stable, old and rude,
carpenter's
son—and doubtless crude--
and
still you praise his works of love
and
hold him in your mind above
the
sons of tailors and of priests
(sons
of divines were not the least
in
number of the sons of man--
deny
that Christian if you can....”
Kasmir
was warming to his task,
and
he had other things to ask.
“And
don't you claim your Jesus boy
thought
of his god and not his toy?
And
shunned all play in search of truth?
Is
this your common human youth?
Make
up your mind, don't trouble me,
of
which one type can Jesus be?
Is
he a mortal? Call him such.
Could
I be roasted by his touch?
Then
he's a god and name him so.
And
don't hang down your head so low--
look
in my eye, I want the facts.”
Reclining
on his bed of tacks,
he
boldly told me with a frown--
“You're
whole religion's upside down!
Now
wait until I charm this snake,
I
have another point to make....”
Alas,
his point he'll 'ner impart.
One
of his nails slipped through his heart.
The
cobra bit him on his toe
and
I decided I should go.
Instead
of watching Kasmir bleed,
I
left him to his perfect creed.
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