Humour's Not For Half-Wits

To funny gags, doggy tales of old mould, We wax worthy as if of vintage wines, Comic jokes and yarns nearing their punch lines, Seem like a see-thru dress though made of gold. Wit is rare art, best enjoyed if alive, There's no alibi for not being there, It's no tail wagging a wag acting naïve, Like sex scene, what unfolds in time is fair. I'd much rather for well-bred humour die, That dies today a slow tortuous death, Yet, slapstick raucous farce jostles, and vie For space with humour, tired and short of breath. Humour's hardly for half-wit raw rookies— Oven-like that makes freshly baked cookies. ____________________________________________________ Sonnets | 01.04.09 |