Mr. Cooke at once began a tirade against the residents of Asquith for permitting a sandy and generally disgraceful condition of the roads. So roundly did he vituperate the inn management in particular, and with such a loud flow of words, that I trembled lest he should be heard on the veranda.

Did you see the Christmas special?

The pitcher was waiting at the mound.

And I get it: for many of us, poetry is esoteric and daunting and floofy and frankly not very interesting.