The Poetry of 94

Today is my dad's 94th birthday.  He's always written a slight bit of doggerel every once in a while -- not often, but it's something he's done even since he was a kid.  In fact, when he was 10 he wrote a terrific three-verse poem, "Why I Want to Be a Doctor," that my grandfather had printed up.  (I still have a copy.)  It's worth adding, that he did indeed become a doctor, and was in the profession for probably close to 50 years.  

For the past 4-5 years or so, though, that lyrical spiggot has poured open, and he's been writing little poems several times a week, ranging from little ditties to parodies to longer efforts.  (What most impresses me, probably more than the poems themselves, is that he remembers them all.  He doesn't sit down at the keyboard when writing them, but laying in bed or sitting in his chair -- and it isn't that he remembers them long enough to write down, but many of them he simply remembers, period.  And some are fairly long.  At any age that would be notable, at 94 it's remarkable.)

 He wrote a new one a couple days ago, and I thought it was a hoot.  So, in honor of his 94th birthday, I thought it only appropriate to offer it.


Romeo and Juliet
by Edward I. Elisberg, M.D. 

Romeo took Juliet to a restaurant one night.
When they arrived and looked about 
They had an awful fright --
At  a table that was set
Was the family Capulet.
They went to one across the street,
But Montagues were there to eat.
So back into the city square
And found an empty restaurant there.
One with main floor and second upper
And that is where they had their supper.
So after the two had met,
I tell to you, and it is true --
Romeo and Julie et.