Group 3

They say there was a man sailing the ocean with much gold Until his ship encountered a storm, ferocious, cold The ship broke up and started sinking To save his gold the man began thinking He made a belt of gold weighing two hundred pounds T'is the truth I'm told, even though absurd it sounds With his golden belt into the ocean he jumped to save his gold Sank to the bottom before the ship, his soul to the devil thus sold They said he owned much gold, but it seems the gold was his master Such thoughtless idolatry, worship of Mammon can only lead to disaster. Beware my friend that the gold you own should not own you Else in a moment of panic plunge to the bottom of the deep blue.

A heavenly body seems to be many people's highest goal I don't have a heavenly body, but I have a heavenly soul Heavenly bodies, the way I see, are only found in the sky To become a heavenly body, you must shed this one and die. But each of us is a star, our reach can go very far, Heavenly soul is our driver, and the body is our car.

I put in my mouth two spoonfuls of rice Though tried to chew, not more than twice My mouth was too full for me to chew I opened my mouth, some rice out flew; Relieved of some load, I tried again This time my attempt was not in vain. Smaller morsels I could comfortably chew Although this I knew, I did not do. I was at my work later that same day Looking at the load, I could only pray I decided that doing so much work Was like eating soup only with a fork; I returned some work to my boss, undone When back at my desk, my stress was gone, Calmly, slowly, I then proceeded In completing my work, that day succeeded. Doing less work, I could easily do Since I knew this, the overload away threw. In the evening, sitting in my room My mental files, my thoughts I needed to groom There were too many, I could not resume So I brushed away some, with my mental broom; Then more relaxed, thinking one by one I groomed my thoughts, until they were done. Too many thoughts, only one mind too, Throw away some, my mind would renew.

I always thought if I could stay put I could face myself, standing foot to foot And then put my lips upon my own lips And kiss myself, holding my own hips. But alas I have never been able To stay in one place calm and stable To leave myself just long enough And kiss myself, not even for a laugh. We are always a moment too late With ourselves to be able to mate So in my mind there's no debate If partnership is my fate Sooner or later at any rate My soul mate and I each other locate.

A child once asked, why do we pronounce "but" like "butt", Yet when we say "put" it doesn't sound like "putt"? Because after all, bat & pat, bet & pet, bit & pit Sound just the same to me, like hit, knit, sit. In all honesty I told that child I admit There is no reason that to me appears fit, My best answer, tongue in cheek and with wit, Some one in the past decreed this holy writ; Nobody since has dared to reform it one whit, Else long ago, our load would've been alit. Long ago, tradition, just like a heavy mist Descended upon us by decree, or iron fist, We today can easily write a lengthy list That senselessly shackles everybody's wrist. Though at first useful perhaps, tradition's gist With time's passing, festered boil, a noxious cyst. Inertia keeps us attached, reform resist But in the end with any sense, we'll desist.