A Hymn To Heteronyms

Please go through the entrance of this little poem.
I guarantee it will entrance you.
The content will certainly make you content,
And the knowledge gained sure will enhance you.

A boy moped around when his parents refused
For him a new moped to buy.
The incense he burned did incense him to go
On a tear with a tear in his eye.

He ragged on his parents, felt they ran him ragged
His just deserts they never gave.
He imagined them out on some deserts so dry,
Where for water they'd search and they'd rave.

At present he just won't present or converse
On the converse of each high-flown theory
Of circles and axes in math class; he has
Many axes to grind, isn't cheery.

He tried to play baseball, but often skied out,
So when the snows came, he just skied.
But he then broke a leg putting on his ski boots,
And his putting in golf was in need.

He once held the lead in a cross country race
Till his legs started feeling like lead.
And when the pain peaked, he looked kind of peaked
His liver felt liver, then dead.

A number of times he felt number, all wound
Up, like one with a wound, not a wand.
His new TV console just couldn't console
Or slough off a slough of despond.

The rugged boy paced 'round his shaggy rugged room
And he spent the whole evening till dawn
Evening out the cross-winds of his hate.
Now my anecdote winds on and on.

He thought: "Does the prancing of so many does
Explain why down dove the white dove,
Or why pussy cat has a pussy old sore
And bass sing in bass notes of their love

Do they always sing, "Do re mi" and stare, agape
At eros, agape, each minute?
Their love's not minute; there's an overage of love.
Even overage fish are quite in it.

These bass fish have never been in short supply
As they supply spawn without waiting.
With their love fluids bubbling, abundant, secretive
There's many a secretive mating.

by Richard Lederer

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