I will do a quick Web dip this evening:
Will I get my Christmas poem done soon?
And the answer from E. B. White is:
...Wilbur stood still and closed his eyes. He could feel the buttermilk trickling down his sides. He opened his mouth and some buttermilk ran in. It was delicious. He felt radiant and happy...
OK, I'm going to feel radiant and happy soon. That means poetry's on its way.
Saint Marty needs to go take a buttermilk bath.
|Buttermilk--good for pigs and biscuits|
U. P. Poet Laureate Voting
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