Posted by Doc M on February 28, 2000 at 15:59:28:
O, what can ail thee, Doctor M,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake
And no gnomes sing!
No gnomal feet disturb her rest,
No tortured cries so tiny,
Her traps are bare, she's in despair,
No gnomie guts so slimy!
Her cauldron's filled with cobwebs now,
Her whips and chains all rusty,
She's out of stew and butter too,
Her canning jars all fusty!
O, what can ail thee, Doctor M.,
What is it that you dreameth?
Mohicanland is bare and sere
Till gnomies once more screameth!
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