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I baked alone
Amidst ideas overgrown,
And my mind was a throbbing ache,
'Till the great and wondrous thought I did bake--
'Till the croissant-adorned idea I did bake.
Ah, less--less innovative
Any other perogative
Than the structure of the simple idea!
never a thought
That ever was wrought
In the mind of a baker before,
Can compete with the thing that my brain now stores--
Can contend with this idea my brain now stores.
Now po--now bliss
Both have me dismissed
For to my annotations they will not reply,
And all my time
I cry and whine
While ever to my idea I always think--
For though I did like it, it turned out to stink.
The original poem, by Edgar Allen Poe. Sorry, Ed! [Pseudonym #3, Mar 30 2002, last modified Mar 31 2002]
12th century, according to Merriam-Webster. [bookworm, Mar 30 2002]
||PseuD. I really think the song sub-category is sufficient. will you stop whinging now.
||I officially nominate this as a new word.
||As for whining, I shall only stop once everyone acknowledges my true godliness.
||It's been a word for quite some time now.
||we prefer bakers with feet of clay.
||Ah, forgive my limited vocabulary.
||little charmer, will go far!
||Alas, my lack of knowledge about the actual poem has betrayed me. But thanks for telling me that, and saving me from any further show of idiocy.