If you’ve pseudocyesis, the case is
You’re not pregnant; those physical traces
Are an honest ordeal,
But your kid isn’t real.
As for good news: he’ll never need braces.
Like, say, ginger beer, shandygaff’s beer
That’s diluted. My dad had severe
Sorts of words for the treat,
Which I can’t, here, repeat,
But he sounded extremely sincere.
For as long as the wildfowl remain
In the air, they are labeled a skein;
When they land and they waggle
We call them a gaggle,
A moniker far less urbane.
When the method of progress we chose
Was a farsighted good one that shows
It was sensibly planned,
It’s called telesis, and
If it’s ever been done, no one knows.