swatt (07/23/82)
This is really nothing constructive to say on the subject, just an attempt to immortalize some of my father's doggerel on rust-on-aluminum. This was written MANY years ago on a Pullman train from Chicago to Seattle as a way of amusing his small children (we used to say "Daddy, write a poem about X" by the HOUR). This particular one was inspired by one of his (to remain nameless) sons' very early display of great difficulties with English spelling. - Alan S. Watt (decvax!ittvax!swatt) ================================================================= Spelling I read and write and show and tell -- No matter what I cannot spell. The words don't sound the way they look; My spelling really has me shook. Now think it through--you must confess That English spelling is a mess. It's otter, daughter, rhyme, and lime; It's demon, lemon, limb, and climb. It's freighter, later, greater, rough, Though malice, palace, through, and stuff. It's churn and fern and learn--one ought-- But misspell verse and worse--you're caught! It's skate and wait and scow and plough And pheasant fences row on row. It's birds and words and herds athundering, And so I've done a lot of wondering: How could a language be invented With so much spelling that's pure demented? It's chief and leaf and rare beef roast, But watch at night to catch a ghost. It's trot and yacht and gritty cheese And ball and yawl and pretty please. It's clear to me the toungue's outmoded, But steer this way my lungs are loaded. It's full and wool and spool and vise And whether, weather, fluke and mice. It's knife and gnome and height and weight And radish, rhubarb--set me straight! If this keeps up I'll take up pronto Italian, French or Esperanto.