My son-in-law sent me this really clever poem about plurals. Here is the link: https://spelling.wordpress.com/2008/04/03/ode-to-plurals/.
I sent the following back to him:
The poem was really clever
but not a cleaver,
or it would tear in two
and you might shed a tear
over what had torn, too.
It’s not a lever either
and the past of lever is not leaver
because you wouldn’t ever want to leave her.
And when a verb is singular
you shouldn’t say are
because that would be two
when there is none,
and the Nun would slap
your wrist with a ruler (but not a king), too.
Nun is single, never having married
and Nun singular;
that’s for sure
and her name before sister something
was Shirley and surely something, too.
And that’s all I could think to do
which is something I just did
and didn’t just dood, dude.
So here is my missal,
excuse me that’s for Nun.
but it should be for Catholic everyone.
I mean a missile;
oh, heaven forbid,
and would expel
and being expelled ain’t no fun for no one.
Well, it can’t be no fun for no one
because to be no fun it has to be no
fun for at least one someone or maybe everyone.
I think I mean missive,
so please don’t dis or alternate diss (which dis
is it — dis or dat? But it can’t be dis or dat;
is has to be this or that,
no I mean dis or this diss.)
and be dismissive
of my little ode to
the crazy language we all live with
and if I live with English
does that make me a liver of English?
I’d rather be thought of as a lover
of the crazy language which we all live with
but now I’m ending a sentence with
a preposition, and trying not to err,
my participle was left dangling
and I thought a gerund was a gerbil,
Oh, rats! Now I’m turning three shades of purple
and I’m about to explode or at least
split an infinitive, so it would behoove
me to really, surely get out of here
while I’m in the groove
before I hear the hooves of horses
running me down when someone
cries, “Giddy up,” which makes
me think the horses are getting happy
and now I’m just slap happy
even though my name is Bob
and I’m just bob, bob, bobbin’
along. So long.