Headless Frank...

advisor to the lovelorn, weary, confused, and the overly self-involved

pumpkin head frank

Dear Readers:

Waxing poetic last week got me going, so here’s another verse in honor of All Saints:

Oh when the saints go marching in
I hope that I am Number 10,
‘Cause number 1 through number 9
Never march in a straight line.
They amble here and wander there
With a less-than-saintly air.

I fear they may go marching OUT,
Leaving me to find the route.
It’s quite direct; peace, love and then
All saints will go marching in.

Try to follow.

Signing off: Medulla oblongata.