A little Ogden Nash
One bliss for which
There is no match
Is when you itch
To up and scratch
Yet doctors and dowagers deprecate scratching,
And medical circles consistently hold
That scratchings as wicked as feeding a cold.
Hell's flame burns unquenched 'neath how many a stocking
On account of to scratch in a salon is shocking!
'Neath tile or thatch
That man is rich
Who has a scratch for every itch.
Ho, squirmers and writhers , how long will you suffer
The medical tyrant, the social rebuffer!
On the edge of the door let our shoulder blades rub,
Let the drawing room now be as free as the tub!
I'm greatly attached
To Barbara Frietchie.
I'll bet she scratched
When she was itchy.
And can you stand one more?
The ostrich roams the great Sahara.
It's mouth is wide, it's neck is narra.
It has such long and lofty legs,
I'm glad it sits to lay it's eggs.