Listen, buds, it's March twenty first; Don't you know enough to burst? Come on, birds, unlock your throats! Come on, gardeners, shed your coats! - Ogden Nash

Man is a victim of dope
In the incurable form of hope!

And I have no desire to get ugly,
But I cannot help mentioning that the door of a bigoted mind opens outwards so that the only result of the pressure of facts upon it is to close it more snugly.

A fig for embryo Lohengrins!
I'll open all his safety pins,
I'll pepper his powder, and salt his bottle,
And give him readings from Aristotle.
Sand for his spinach I'll gladly bring,
And Tabasco sauce for his teething ring.
Then perhaps he'll struggle through fire and water
To marry somebody else's daughter.