“A quarter to seven’s too early to meet
And I just don’t believe you can half past a nine,
A ten to eleven just looks at me odd.”
Said the odd Mr. Keating, who hadn’t the time.

It was not the case that he had not enough,
Or he had not a clock for this just wasn’t true.
For he had a fabulous silvery watch,
But he just couldn’t read it, he had not a clue.

“At nineteen to nineteen I’m having my tea,
And at twenty to thirty get fitted for socks.
At half past a quarter I’m looking at books,
And I know I’ll be busy through all the o’clocks.”

“I’ll stop by the tailor’s by twenty-two past,
But I’m not sure past what so I’ll have to stop twice.
I must take a call from a man I’ve named Paul,
Around twelve if it rains but thirteen if it’s nice.”

“I’ve planned to be tickled at five past a pickle.
My serious matters I just must attend.
I have half a mind to go stand in a line,
So I may head to town at a squirrel-to-ten.”

For forty-one minutes his schedule went on,
Mr. Keating reciting and writing his list.
It wasn’t ideal, but he’d scheduled the spiel,
Or for certain a plan of his may have been missed.

“At half past a roast I will sit down for lunch
And I’ve already ordered so guess what I’ll eat.”
“A roast?” was my guess when he looked back distressed,
And said “No! Onion soup, for I never eat meat.”

“And then at a five until quarter-ten past,
Twenty-four from a half and a bit on a dime,
Around all the threes, I will do what I please,
And that looks to be nothing if I have the time.”

“If I can get free from the times when I’m not,
Does a time work for you? Shall I schedule our chat?”
I looked in his book and he wrote in a note,
Between two-forty-scarf and a half past a hat.

The time now decided, he calmed down a bit,
(While I had no idea when to be at his spot.)
“So, why are we meeting?” I asked Mr. Keating.
“Oh beans, now it seems that I’ve gone and forgot.”

“The Fair was fair, but the Bazaar was bizarre,”
Said Peter Repeater three feet from my yard.
“All Monday all the monkeys just monkeyed around,
While lions were lyin’ all over the ground,
The people were peeping, their peepers awide
Staring from stairs at the show shown inside
The amazing maize maze earned ’em A’s, if I may,
But the train treks the tracks for training Tuesday!
Two bucks a head to buck ahead of the line and ease in
So see’em ‘fore they seize’em, as they’re ceasin’ for the season!!”

Whatever you do
Don’t eat the stew
Made by my mother
When she tries to feed you

It may smell delicious
And she’ll claim it’s nutritious
But it is the worst
Of all of her dishes

Worse than her skewered snake
Or her inside-out cake
Worse than any meal
She may try to make

You’ve heard the tall tale
Of my poor brother, Dale
He ate the stew and that night
He turned in to a snail

I can’t tell the story
Of our neighbor named Lori
Who once had a nibble
It is far too gory

While not taking a bite
May seem impolite
Your neck’s on the line
So shut your mouth tight

Trust when I say
You must stay away
If you’d like to live,
And see another day

So don’t eat the stew!
I’ll eat it for you
I’ve had it before
So I guess I’m immune.

Steady Eddie
Is always ready,
Whatever you might try.

You can’t push him down,
Knock him to the ground,
Or get him to lay or lie.

Just try to topple,
He’ll never stop, he’ll
Just keep getting up again.

You can push or pull,
It’s impossible,
He’ll be standing up straight in the end.

This may seem good, after all
Eddie never will fall
So he’ll never scrape his knees.

But it’s also a curse
Because what could be worse
Than having to stand when he sleeps!?!