Poet's Corner:
Tennis Anyone

(Break, Break, Break)


Here's a poem by Alfred, Lord Tennisanyone.
O, o, o, well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O, well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

Break, break, break
At the foot of thy crags, O sea!
But the tender grace of the day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

Hey, Brak, what does that poem mean?
The poem speaks of a yearning for that which is lost, um, a hunger for... somethin' to EAT!
Nothin' works up an appetite in the old Space Ghost more than a couple stanzas of classical verse.
Boy howdy.
Corned beef would be good right now. I just happen to know, don't ask me how, that Alfred, Lord Tennisshoe, ate corned beef and sauerkraut morning, noon, and night. That's why his nickname was Reuben. Reuben, Lord Tennisshoe. And his buddies would say "Hey, Reuben, write another poem, buddy!" and, and then he'd say "Okay, but lemme finish my sandwich first!"

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