I’d like to be unique in all I do,
To see the beauty hid from other’s view,
To speak the thing that’s seldom said but true.
But when I come to weigh what is your virtue’s due,
I am compelled to join all men in praising you.
Those words of love, the promise of your lips,
Were thin and breakable as potato chips;
No longer than a bag our love did last —
One of those bags mostly filled with air
That go so fast.
The Happily Puzzled Statistician
There are so many stars in the sky,
If up to a star I could fly,
Statistically do you think that I
Would happen to light upon the most habitable one?
So how on earth could it be
That she, of all people, loves me!
In mathematical probability
Should I of all men be the most happiest one?