|Upon a park bench one July
there came three men and one was Aye;
the other two were Old Myself,
and also Me, that Irish elf.
(For Me is short and clover green
who sometimes needs a go-between;
he wears his ego on his sleeve,
and loves the world of make-believe.)
When Aye looked Me right in the eye,
Me let a few choice phrases fly;
then Old Myself, so staid and still,
told Me to just sit back and chill.
Me looked to Aye beside Myself
and put some anger on the shelf;
then Aye just nudged Myself a bit,
so happy that the Me had quit.
Aye turned to Me and he thus said,
“Do you think I should forge ahead?”
And then before Me could reply,
Myself began to speak to Aye.
“To me I think you should proceed,
for you are Aye and Me has need.”
“I am Myself and if it be,
I will aye-aye your words to Me.”
Then Me stood up and flashed an eye
directly at Myself and Aye;
“Don’t talk about me like I’m gone,
for me, myself, I think it wrong!”
(The Old Myself is somewhat gray
and has a very pleasing way;
but he will not permit the Me
to chide the Aye persistently.)
So Aye, Myself and even Me,
upon a bench for all to see,
discussed it all in voices three
yet it then changed remarkably.
“How goes it, Me?" I heard Aye ask,
while in the sun Myself did bask.
“Why, I am fine, Aye--having fun!”
Then Me, Myself and Aye were one.
[Rhythm: 8] (Lines: 40)
Writer’s Cramp; December 8, 2011
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