Although it must seem as though I'm linking to wingnut extraordinaire, Michelle Malkin, at least three times a week (I'm just mad about her moussed 'do), in truth I ignore two-thirds of her gas-bag rantings.
But, when I noticed she posted a poetry entry, I couldn't help myself. You'all know poetry is my thing and, besides, in the world of wingnuttery, that poetic side was something I just never imagined existed.
I could have saved myself the two minute site visit. MM's taste in poetry is atrociously bad, running to the excrutiatingly over-blown and over-wrought. If you need a laugh, check it out. This piece of dreck couldn't be saved, even if you put it to an accordion chorus.
Speaking of . . . here's today's accordion:
"Dance, goat, dance."
I've always wanted to say that.
Finally, an update from another weekend in the garden. This is for Greatest Husband, currently rambling about in Colorado with Second-Greatest Son. If you spot a blue Subaru with Wisconsin plates and an orange whitewater canoe on the top, honk and blow him a kiss from me – because he didn't leave town without taking care of his woman. Look what he left me:
Rows and rows of lettuce and dill and cilantro. It's all so beautiful and delicious I want to lean over the garden wall and just bite it!
After a weekend of planting and mulching and general house-workery, that's about all the strength I have left for preparing dinner.
Feast your eyes on my completed raised garden bed project,
and find yourself a good poem.