The Case
“Till the case is solvèd,”—surety by Inspector Clouseau—who says in the midst of the case,
“Now we are getting somewhere,”—in the height of confusion—when nothing makes sense—
Topsy-turvy claiming ground to rule—yet hope still alive—abounding with transport!—
He solvèd the case—no doubts now remain—we have gotten somewhere—
Meditating on JWs’ divulgement of the launching of the great tribulation,
poetchilde’s spirit became agitated to the laying of a paper before Yahweh—
who sent him a book beyond his dreams—and a second agitation marked
amazingly to a day—followed by a worry—what makes free will free?
Thus, amidst a cry of desperate hope in the heart of confusion
poetchilde announces, “Now we are getting somewhere!”—clueless as to how Adam sinned—
Source—a life-long spirit agitating quodlibets out of the blue to betake our Goobermeister—
poetchilde laying before the only One who knows a desperate cry on a Post-it Note—
“Where is the answer
to the quested
quotient
That the Son of Fun
qui vive?”
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