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Thursday, February 28, 2008

All Children Love Poetry

Dead Beat was wandering through the back streets of Dublin when who should he meet but his old croony Con Houlihan.

"Con," Dead Beat begins, "what's the state of Irish poetry these days. I get a bit lost being far removed in the wilds of New Brunswick."

"Thing is Dead Beat," C.H. confides, "You're an adult. Adults are best sent to New Brunswick. All children love poetry; not all grown-ups do. Somehow it gets lost on the way -- William Wordsworth explained why. It might be more correct to say that children love rhyme. Without it they would hardly be so enthralled.
We will take an example.
"Halt, halt" the robber cried
"And hand me out your riches".
"I can't, I can't" the man replied
"For I'm holding up my britches."
If you took out "britches" and put in "pants" it wouldn't be funny at all. Rhyme creates the magic.

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