The one or two who whisper woleful woo
Won't wait while watchful wisdom whirls away.
The three or four who barely ope' the door
So clearly latch their lives lo lest they pray.
The five or six who cannot stand the mix
Catch certain horror lurking down the road.
The seven, eight who barely make the gate
Do worry 'bout the strength of their abode.
The nine or ten who fancy it again
Will lose the wager oftener than not.
Th'leven, twelve who 'pon its wonders delve
Seem guileless victims of their likely lot.
And so my DNA should you live on?
(But what if single parenthood has won?)
24 December 2005