Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by his heart, and his friends can only read the title.
GERM OF AN IDEA
A mighty creature is the germ,
Though smaller than a pachyderm.
His customary dwelling place
Is deep within the human race.
His childish pride he often pleases
By giving people strange diseases.
Do you, my poppet, feel infirm?
You probably contain a germ.
Odgen Nash is one of those wonderful writers that can reduce the most complicated biological mishap into a few simple lines of whimsy.
It doesn`t need to be scrutinised for any deep philosophical content; the language is deceptively ingenuous, yet unfolds the truth of the matter like the swift opening of a pair of theatrical curtains.
Language and good literature are like fine wine upon the lips. I cannot imagine a life without the written word. It`s the music which keeps the orchestra in my head playing on an endless loop of pleasure. Give me a book to read, and I`m as happy as a French man who has invented a pair of self removing trousers. View all posts by marlovian