Here’s to you, Bishop Robinson.

You didn’t see it. You didn’t hear it. Neither did I. But Episcopal Bishop Gene Robinson of New Hampshire gave a brief convocation today at the inaugural events in Washington, D.C.. I suppose CNN can’t show everything that goes on… my only hope is that if the directive came down, “don’t show the controversial preacher”, that they apply the same rule on Tuesday.

With sincere and heartfelt apologies to Simon and Garfunkel…

We’d like to have you speak at our inaugural event…
We’d like to put your face up on the screen
Look around you; all you see are Democratic eyes.
Stroll around the Mall until it’s time to speak

And here’s to you, Bishop Robinson,
CNN—your speech they wouldn’t show
Wo wo wo
Bless us with tears, Bishop Robinson,
Heaven knows it can’t be cos you’re gay
Hey hey hey, hey hey hey….

Use another camera while the Bishop says his prayer.
Put it on a crowd scene for the broadcast
Keep him in the closet, Bishop Robinson’s not there
Most of all, we’ve got to hide him from the kids

Shoo, shoo, to you, Bishop Robinson,
CNN—your speech they wouldn’t show
Wo wo wo
Bless us with tears, Bishop Robinson,
Heaven knows it can’t be cos you’re gay
Hey hey hey, hey hey hey….

Standing on the marble steps, with Lincoln looking down
Going through the motions for TV
Laugh about it, Shout about it, Try to spread the word
Anyway, the Bishop wasn’t heard

Where have you gone, Marian Anderson?
The GMC is singing just like you
Ooo ooo ooo
What’s that you say, Bishop Robinson?
CNN sure kept you locked away
Hey hey hey… hey hey hey…

The text of Bishop Robinson’s speech can be found at Pam’s House Blend, and is well worth the read. Fortunately, the Bishop was not just talking to his god, but to thousands of people as well. Maybe his words will make a difference as a result.

Update–Pam’s House Blend (and a few other places) has the video of the speech. My own reaction to the video… maybe it’s me, but I think his prayer is a lot more moving when it is in the voice in my head, rather than Robinson’s voice. Beautifully written, but…

And yes, I know “Marian” has one too many syllables. Sue me.

Free For All!

Good morning, class; Today, we’ll call
The “Academic Free-For-All”—
We’ll take a break from evidence,
From peer-review, from making sense,
From climbing up atop our giants
And other silly ways of science.
Today, I’d like to talk about
The theories often done without;
The ones held by tenacious few
(And yes, they laughed at Einstein, too!)

Today, I’d like to speak with you
On “Origin of Species 2
The sequel Darwin meant to write
But didn’t, due to oversight.
Of course, he did not know of genes,
But knew that, there, behind the scenes
Of each mutation, pulling strings
And mucking with all sorts of things,
The “unmoved mover”, if you wish,
There lurked a giant cuttlefish.

Today, dear students, (quiet please!)
Take out your old recycled trees
And open them—page ninety-three,
Now listen very carefully—
Who really wrote the Shakespeare plays
While Will was in his drunken haze?
Not Bacon—no, and not deVere,
Today I’m going to make it clear
Though “they” will claim my claim’s absurd
A cuttlefish wrote every word.

Today (sit down and shut your yaps!)
We side-step academic traps,
To tell the truth as we see fit
And put away that standard shit.
What holds a plane up in the air?
We’ve tested currents, lift, and prayer—
All crap! But in a dream last night
It came to me… and must be right.
We’re held up high and safe from harms
In a giant cuttlefish’s arms.

This Academic Free-For-All-ing
May seem fun, or just appalling!
If you’re dismayed, please have no fear,
There’s method to our madness here;
It’s meant to draw attention to
The structure to the work we do
The methods that we use, we must,
To get results that you may trust.
A Free-For-All Day sure is fun,
But aren’t you happy when it’s done?

cuttlecap tip to PZ, of course.

Oh, yeah, time for one of these again:

Support independent publishing: buy this book on Lulu.

Oh, Nothing…

I wish to register a complaint. About nothing. And I’m serious.

It’s this “strong vs. weak atheism” business. I’m sure you have heard the terms; they purport to categorize those who “believe there is no god” and those who “hold no belief in a god”, respectively. A weak atheist allegedly does not believe, but a strong atheist allegedly believes that there is no god.

Stop using these terms. Stop it. Just stop it, right now. They are worse than useless.

Atheism is the “none of the above” category; it’s the “nothing for me, thanks” equivalent. A co-worker of mine, when he found out I am an atheist, asked me “which god is it you don’t believe in?” He was a christian minister, and must have thought himself very clever. Of course, he would have strongly believed in the god of the Bible–and it makes sense to speak of that as a strong belief. He had no doubts (despite plenty of reason to doubt, having lost family in a flood at a bible camp!), whereas others may have a few doubts, or grave doubts.

He also, as a devout believer, would have been a strong disbeliever in, say, Zeus. Which is why the terms are silly. Belief is object-specific. My sister is a believer–does that tell you much about her? Is she Christian? Muslim? Jewish? If she is Christian, what does that tell you? Is she Catholic? Lutheran? Baptist? Not all believers are the same (duh), and each of these different belief systems is positively defined, with regard to a specific object of belief. My co-worker, as an article of faith in his god, strongly believed that there were no other gods. His disbelief in Zeus was part of a positive description of his world-view, not merely an absence of belief in Zeus. (By the way, you may also have heard the argument “ask yourself why you do not believe in all the gods you don’t believe in–I just apply the same reasons to one more god than you do.” While this may be correct for some, it obviously would not work for my co-worker. His reason for not believing in god X was that god Y had told him not to–this does not generalize to god Y, and is also very probably not the reason an atheist does not believe.)

An absence of belief is just that–an absence. Zero on the scale. You don’t get more zero by adding exclamation points, or more zeroes after a decimal. You may have positive beliefs that are relevant–I, for instance, believe that an understanding of the psychology and neurology of belief more than adequately accounts for the reasons people believe in a god, without an actual god being required at all–but this is a separate positive belief, not a “stronger absence of belief”.

Stronger and weaker are terms that are appropriate when speaking positively of a belief, but irrelevant when speaking of an absence; to use the terms is to strengthen the anti-atheist position that speaks of “atheist agenda”. Catholics may have an agenda, but non-catholics? Muslims may have an agenda, but non-muslims? (note–I am not using “agenda” to mean anything other than their defining beliefs.) “None of the above” does not have an agenda.

I looked in my wallet, to take out a note—
There was someone I needed to pay.
Now, I’m used to my wallet containing just nothing,
But there’s even more nothing today

I didn’t just not have a dollar today,
I didn’t have twenty or more!
I didn’t have hundreds, I didn’t have thousands,
More nothing than ever before!

It’s not that I’m working with negative numbers,
Just zeroes, and zeroes galore!
I thought that, with zeroes, just one was enough
But I’ve zeroes today by the score!

There’s nothing—just nothing—a whole lot of nothing,
There’s nothing all over the place
Just zeroes, and zeroes, and zeroes and zeroes…
I’m lucky they take up no space.

You’d think inundation with infinite nothing
Would be a particular hell
But the thing about nothing—no matter how much—
Is that nobody really can tell.

You can doubly my nothing, it’s still only nothing,
At double-or-nothing the odds
And nothing is nothing, when speaking of money
Or even believing in gods.

The Digital Pack-Rat, Vol. 11

I really don’t think my readership contains a whole lot of people who are offended by strong language, or who cannot recognize satire, but if either or both of those describe you, I am warning you that the last verse this time might be one you want to miss.

So, as it turns out, what PZ Myers did to a communion wafer is not something that can be taken care of by his local priest. No, this was so egregious that it must be handled by the Pope himself.

Oh, the Pope’ll make you pay fer
What you did to that poor wafer
And you oughta be just mortified for doing what you did!
It’s a sin to take a nail an’
Poke a cracker, cos impalin’
Is a Godly thing, that only He can do unto His Kid.
If you’d only done, say, homicide,
Or broke some sacred promise, I’d
Expect some lower lackey is authority enough
But to drive a nail through Jesus
On your blog, no less, to please us,
Why the Pope himself’s required, when it comes to cracker snuff.

How is it that one could be blessed with a lovesick squid?

I looked up to the heavens and I wished upon a star
Though I knew it couldn’t hear, from unimaginably far,
I wished two arms to hold me, two arms to keep me tight,
Two arms that I could cling to every second of the night,
Two arms to keep me safe and warm, two arms to share my fun—
I meant “two arms in total”, but that star’s a silly one.

Musing on the merits of politeness…

Would you think me less than civil
If I gussied up my drivel?
Would your disappointment shrivel up and vanish in the mist?
Would you give me greater latitude
If I cleaned up my attitude?
I do not need your gratitude, goddammit, I am pissed!
Comments here may seem…well, rude,
But they’re rarely misconstrued
If you’d rather be a prude and miss the point, then go to hell.
Want polite? You’re out of luck, you
Smarmy bastard, cos you suck. You
Don’t deserve less than a “fuck you, and the horse you rode as well”

This one came before my “cuttlefish genome”, but was a quick response to the same story—Steve Pinker’s genome being made public.

The volumes that are written in a strand of DNA
Are a poetry we thought beyond our reach
But thanks to all the thinkers reading genomes such as Pinker’s
We will see how much a molecule can teach.

More arguing over trying to force creationism into schools…

If ignorance was good for me, It’s good for children, too;
If I get by not knowing bupkus, so by god can you.
Them science types, they use big words–don’t understand a bit.
I’m happy with Creation, cos it keeps me dumb as shit.
If Darwin’s evolution says we’re all just beasts and brutes
There’s no room for religion, or for spiritual pursuits.
Creation puts us humans at the top where we belong
Besides, don’t want my kids to learn the fact that… I am wrong.

First, go read scicurious’s ode to the prairie voles in love. Otherwise, you won’t get the context for this next one. Besides, it’s wonderful. So… go. read. I’ll wait.

My worry is
With verses such as this,
With rhyme that flows in
May have found her bliss!
The premise, see,
Is: chemistry,
And not the moon above,
Will vary roles
Of prairie voles–
And people, too–in love!
Will some vole croon
Beneath full moon,
And woo the lass he’s chosen?
As Cuttlefish,
My subtle wish
Is–pass the oxytocin!

Yeah, this next one is offensive. It’s satire. I think my credentials on this issue have been established on this blog. The targets of my ire here are the commenters to an editorial in the Concord (NH) Monitor (as reported at Dr. Joan Bushwell’s Chimpanzee Refuge) about Bishop Gene Robinson having been asked to speak at Obama’s inauguration. Don’t bother reading them—I have summed them up here.

Sing praises! Hallelujah! Thank you Jesus! Happy Day!
Unless, of course, you pervert, you’re a godless bastard Gay–
All you faggots, dykes, and homos, all you lesbos, all you queers,
You’ve been persecuting Christian folks for too, too many years!
With your godless Gay Agenda, and your Liberal Elite,
You expect us decent people, now, to bow and kiss your feet?
Now this Robinson, this homo, who pretends that he’s a priest,
Real Americans will tell you he’s not Christian in the least–
He’s unchristian, unamerican, inhuman, and insane
He’s pretending he’s religious just for monetary gain;
He’s a hypocrite, a liar, he’s a Communist inside
Cos America was founded with the Bible as its guide!
When he dies (and he’ll die early–he’s unhealthy, you can tell)
I can only hope he’s happy sucking Satan’s cock in Hell
While good Christians spend eternity just spitting from above,
Where we’re gathered up in Heaven… because God, you know, is Love.

The Cuttlefish Genome Project

So, Steve Pinker’s genome is going to be made public. He comes across as quite willing to recognize genetic determinism, but in my view he is all too dismissive of our ability to systematically analyze our environmental variability. “Nonshared environment” is “just a fudge factor” in twin studies; to my ear, it sounds like a bit of an argument from ignorance. It should not be a fudge factor, it should be a fertile area for study. But for now…

They analyzed my genome, and they put it in a book,
Which they offered me, politely, so I thought I’d take a look.
I wondered what my genome could inform me of myself,
So I summoned up my courage… and I pulled it from the shelf.

It spoke in broad percentages and probabilities
And it warned we are unable to extrapolate from these;
The educated reader knows the folly of that task—
But the info’s on the pages, so it couldn’t hurt to ask.

My eyes, it said, were hazel, if I represent the mean;
But the distribution spreads a bit, and so my eyes are green.
I’m average height, and average weight; I’m healthy in my heart,
And I’ve got some good potential, or I did back at the start.

I ought to be a genius (that should make me a believer)
If I hadn’t scrambled half my brains with adolescent fever;
(The doctors say my fever was a nasty one-oh-eight;
Sure, my nature points to brilliance, but my nurture says “too late!”)

It says I’ve got a decent chance of having OCD
But I have to tell you, honestly, I think I disagree—
I’m not the sort to check my stove or light-switch all the time,
Not obsessive or compulsive… save for meter and for rhyme.

It tells me I prefer a blonde—I much prefer brunette,
Ah, but maybe there’s the perfect woman I have never met
It tells me I should love the taste of steak and kidney pie,
But I’ve never really eaten one—I guess I’d better try.

The listed probabilities all seem to interact
Like a winning hand in poker, less the one or two I lacked,
When I add them all together, It was plain for me to see
Just a chance in several billion that I’d come out just like me.

Reading This Just Increased Your Carbon Footprint

News Item: Being Alive Today Is Hazardous To The Environment.

erm… not quite… Actual News Item: The Environmental Impact of Googling

It’s getting to the point, these days, where looking at the news
Is utterly depressing—it’s the information blues;
Not merely the economy, although that’s bad enough;
But politics, environment, and scientific stuff—
For instance, just this morning as I had my morning cup
And read the recent news reports I just had Googled up,
I read a Harvard physicist (named Alex Wissner-Gross)
Accusing me of murder (well, not really, but it’s close)!
You see, my carbon footprint (which we know is really bad)
Was growing with each Google search and coffee that I had!
About the same for each of them, at roughly seven grams—
I looked around and saw… I’m part of several other scams!
My clothing uses pesticides, and fertilizers too,
Synthetics from petroleum and other sorts of goo;
My jacket and my shoes were made from something that had died
And someone earns a buck a day to make stuff from its hide
The other night I had a roast, a fine New Zealand lamb,
About as far as possible to ship to where I am—
I’d love to have some swordfish, but there’s hardly any left,
Though still so cheap to buy it that it might as well be theft.
My cellphone, so they tell me, is a cause of global war
For coltan and cassiterite, and other metal ore—
The cost of its convenience isn’t one I have to bear;
The tragedy, of course, all happens way, way over there.
My TV set, my microwave, my fridge, my stove, my car,
Each everyday convenience (all the work’s done from afar)
Is making me my own environmental wrecking crew —
Including, as it happens, this here verse I write for you.

I’ll try to shrink my footprint, and report on how it goes:
First, clothing—I’ll run naked through the January snows;
I’ll walk to work—no driving, and my bike is from Brazil,
Not local manufacture, so it hardly fits the bill;
I’ll turn off light, and shut off heat—or hold my class outside,
Reduce our carbon footprint, but increase our civic pride!

I can’t go to the store, because I’m giving up my car
But walking there’s a nightmare—I can’t carry stuff that far.
I’d have it all delivered, but I cannot make the call;
I’m giving up my cellphone, cos of genocide and all.
Besides, when they deliver, it’s this big enormous truck…

No wonder most Americans choose not to give a fuck.

The Digital Pack-Rat, Vol. 10

While the ScienceBlogs are cooling their heels, I’ll do a little housekeeping, and tidy up some of the comments from elsewhere. First, a reaction to a pro-Paliban website. The question at hand was–can this website possibly be for real?

Once upon a late December, If correctly I remember,
Waiting for the year’s last ember soon to stop its cheery glow
Clicking through my browser’s pages, while outside the winter rages,
Hoping that the words of sages from the screen would somehow flow
Though the internet’s where words of wisdom rarely ever flow;
Odds are better it’s a Poe.

But the horrors I envision, with each click and each decision,
As my brain endures collision with both web-page and bordeaux
Have my frontal lobe infected, which I thought had been protected
When Obama was elected, not Wasilla’s queen of snow;
I had hoped we’d seen the last of her, and sent her back to snow,
It must surely be a Poe.


And my last comment of the old year, or maybe my first comment of the new year, I forget.

Around the world, the stroke of midnight seems to cause a riot.
In Cuttlehouse, this year at least, it passes all too quiet.
The Cuttlekids are off with friends, the Cuttlespouse online,
And me? I’m mostly lost in thought (a wee bit lost in wine).
Remembering the year gone by, my best in years (by far!),
And wishing you… the best of years… where e’re it is you are.

Kent Hovind, with not much better to do while behind bars, continues to publish his “dialogs with God”.

A dialog with god or dog
Is oftenest a monologue

The Great State of Oklahoma is attempting to officially dumb down science. Following a suggestion by George Orwell, their new anti-evolution bill is the “Scientific Education and Academic Freedom Act”.

What Senator would ever choose
To stand opposed to Freedom?
Don’t worry that the kids might lose
Their smarts–they’ll never need’em!

Why, ignorance, in politics
Becomes a badge of honor!
The truth is, to these Senate pricks,
A designated goner.

Their ignorance, a point of pride–
A fundamental tenet–
Leaves students only qualified
For Oklahoma Senate.

A bit of a musing on why it is that so many people believe that humans have reached the point where evolution no longer applies to us.

There really is no mystery
In how these people think;
When all recorded history
Is evolution’s *blink*;
If, from a movie, say we will
Remove a single frame–
The picture there is standing still
And must remain the same.
Our children look… about like us
They don’t seem “more evolved”–
And so, case closed, no muss, no fuss;
The problem is resolved.
Of course, they’re wrong, as I and you
Both know; the truth is this–
That Man has a myopic view,
And ignorance is bliss.

PeeZee? PeeZed?

There once was a man named PZ
Whose minions were easily led–
By the thousands, for him,
They would bow to his whim
Until pollsters were all filled with dread!

In a frankly bizarre ad campaign, a major burger chain will send you a coupon for a free burger for every ten friends you delete from your Facebook friends list.

Think of all your friends, deleted,
Just for burgers, barely meated,

Friendship–just like that, so fickle,
Just so you can hold your pickle

Your former friends, they are the ones
Who put the meat between your buns

If you’d trade friends for meat and mustard
I, for one… am just disgustard.

(And now this silly writing ends–
I’m off to sell my facebook friends.)

Thought For The Day

Wow! Somebody posted one of my poems on the BBC blog! Way down at comment 183. Comment 184 calls it “hardly poetry”. (Actually, it is not one of my favorites at all–I always found it clunky and stilted–but objectively speaking, the writer of comment 184 is a jerk.)

More to the point, though… the question under debate is whether the BBC’s “Thought For The Day”, which currently is filled exclusively with religious voices (of various denominations, of course), should expand to include atheist Thought as well. The Beeb is opposed, currently:

Thought for the Day is a unique slot in which speakers from a wide range of religious faiths reflect on an issue of the day from their faith perspective. In the midst of the three hour Today programme devoted to overwhelmingly secular concerns – national and international news and features, searching interviews etc – the slot offers a brief, uninterrupted interlude of spiritual reflection. We believe that broadening the brief would detract from the distinctiveness of the slot.

Within Thought for the Day a careful balance is maintained of voices from different Christian denominations and other religions with significant membership in the UK. We are broadcasting to the general Radio 4 audience which regularly engages with the comments and ideas expressed by our contributors from the world’s major faiths – whether they are believers or not.

Outside Thought for the Day the BBC’s religious output contains both religious and non-religious voices in programmes such as Sunday, Beyond Belief, Moral Maze. In these programmes atheists, humanists and secularists are regularly heard, the religious world is scrutinised, its leaders and proponents are questioned.

Non-religious voices are also heard extensively across the general output in news, current affairs, documentaries, talks, science, history. These programmes approach the world from perspectives which are not religious. As, of course, do the other 2 hours 57 minutes of Today.”

So… let’s see if I have this straight. For 2 hours 57 minutes, anyone can talk; there is no requirement of belief or lack thereof. For three minutes, though, atheists are not allowed.

Excluding the atheists—sure, that’s ok—
So long as it’s only three minutes a day
Or judging your worth based on how much you weigh
So long as it’s only three minutes a day
Get out, if you’re black! Or you’re white! Or you’re gray!
So long as it’s only three minutes a day
And keep your mouth shut if you chance to be gay
So long as it’s only three minutes a day

Let’s bother the man with the ill-made toupee
So long as it’s only three minutes a day
And joke at the homeless, with no place to stay
So long as it’s only three minutes a day
Any group that we wish, we can not let them play
So long as it’s only three minutes a day
And look down our noses in utter dismay
So long as it’s only three minutes a day

It’s only three minutes; no need for dismay
If you choose to get huffy, and join in the fray
We’ll label you “angry” to keep you at bay
Dismissing your view as a public display
And repackaging it as some worn-out cliché
From a group with essentially nothing to say

And it’s fine if our freedom of speech goes away…
So long as it’s only three minutes a day

(and for the benefit of the writer of comment 184–Don’t worry; I already agree with you, it’s not poetry. I don’t write poetry, I write verse. And it will not nourish your soul, for perhaps the same reason that it will not nourish the pixies in your garden.)

Live Free Or Die, Octopus Style

They’re letting my Uncle Sid out of the slammer! (photo of Sid at the link… copies prohibited.)

Sid’s great escape from the Portobello Aquarium is about to become permanent.
“We are still trying to catch a new octopus to replace Sid, who will then be set free.”

Bummer for the new guy, of course, but good news for Uncle Sid!

…of course, as PZ points out, Sid has a short life expectancy, so it was probably time to go looking for a replacement anyway, before some little visitor to the aquarium asks why Sid has turned gray and started floating upside-down… So it turns out that freedom’s just another word for no much time to live.

Hey, that’s catchy…

Busted flat in Portobello, hiding in a drain
He was feeling just as trapped as he could be
Sid escaped from his little tank and tried to make it plain
He’d rather spend his last days in the sea

Five days later, Sid was seen… heading for the door
He didn’t make it, but you know, at least he tried
He saw an open doorway and he knew what it was for
He knew it had to lead to the other side

Freedom’s just another word for not much time to live
But better than the drainpipe where he hid
They couldn’t make him happy, so they gave what they could give
And it’s good enough to do what they just did
Good enough for me, and my octopus, Sid.

From the warm New Zealand ocean, to the Portobello tank
Hey, Sid, he was an underwater star
But even if they fed him, he couldn’t give them thanks
It ain’t free food, if jail is where you are.

And now that Sid is growing old, and soon is going to die
(They don’t live very long, like you or me)
His keepers soon will let him go, and he won’t ask them why—
If you’re gonna die, you might as well die free.

Freedom’s just another word for not much time to live
But better than the drainpipe where he hid
They couldn’t make him happy, so they gave what they could give
And it’s good enough to do what they just did
Good enough for me, and my octopus, Sid.

(la la la la…)

Love and “Chemical Cocktails”

In today’s BBC News, we have a story by someone who obviously is not a reader of The Digital Cuttlefish. Specifically, the story asks the question “Is love just a chemical cocktail?

It is said that love is a drug. But is it just a drug?

That is the contention of Larry Young, a professor of neuroscience at Emory University in Atlanta, Georgia.

Writing in the respected scientific journal Nature, Professor Young argues that love can be explained by a series of neurochemical events that are happening in specific brain areas.

In truth, Dr. Young does give lip service to the role of evolution, although he really appears to be more satisfied with his proximate causation–specifically, oxytocin.

I’ve seen this before, at a conference. Very cool, of course, and very incomplete. And again, to give him his due, Dr. Young does not disagree.

He believes there are other chemicals involved in strengthening that bond – it is just a matter of doing the research and finding out which ones they are.

“I’m sure that we are just beginning to tap the surface,” he said.

“There are hundreds of signalling molecules in the brain – they all act in different brain areas.

“I think one day we will have a much better understanding of how all these chemicals interact and act in specific brain areas that have specific function that give rise to these complex emotions.”

Mind you, I am utterly convinced that he can find every single chemical involved and still have an incomplete explanation. A complete proximal explanation is no ultimate explanation at all.

And then…

Having put poets firmly in their place, Professor Young will have to take on the arguments of scientific colleagues who might take issue with his view that love is all down to chemicals.

Them’s fightin’ words.

You’ve seen the Evolutionary Biology Valentine’s Day Poem, I am sure. (IF not, go read it. Now. Before you continue.)

These verses are just for the BBC story…

The latest suspect, oxytocin,
Floods the brain when we draw close (in
Some perfumes they’ll add a dose, in
Hopes of that reaction)
The chemical increases trust,
So hopes are that it may, or must
Produce a love that’s more than lust
Or “animal attraction”

But oxytocin, too, controls
The bonding seen in prairie voles
Which act as if they pledge their souls
To one and only one;
Their cousins, though, the rats and mice
Behave as if they don’t think twice
And if some nearby rodent’s nice
They’ll surely have some fun

The differences twixt vole and mouse—
Why one’s a catch and one’s a louse—
If chemistry you would espouse
As why, I disagree—
The chemistry’s not why, but how
One rodent keeps its marriage vow
And one seeks out new fields to plow
Not why at all, you see.

(These would go between verses 2 and 3 of the original.)

Gotta run! Buy my book, link my site (to “cuttlefish”–see the comments to my previous post), be well, yadda yadda yadda…