There was a psychiatrist named Jung
who thought the Unconscious was far-flung --
like Sandman's "The Dreaming"
that you've seen on streaming:
farfetched and fictional -- with heroes, unsung.
There once was a psychiatrist named Freud
who thought all were obsessed with filling a void...
a void in the pants!
Though some looked askance,
and those whose cigars weren't cigars were annoyed.
There was a soft-spoken jeweler from Estonia
who often worked in cubic zirconia.
He'd never tell a lie,
but came across quite shy,
Some thought they'd got the best deal in Estonia.
There was a Zen master named Ikkyū
who was thought by many to be cuckoo.
He'd allow a toot
on his very own flute.
Which was unbecoming of flutists (& monks, too.)
Said a construction worker in Doha,
"I don't mean to sound so bourgeois,
but being paid 'd be nice,
and not with a cot -n- plain rice.
Pardon if I show too much chutzpah."
The poet Alexander Pushkin
challenged twenty-one duels with no win.
But just that one loss,
put him under a cross.
Perhaps, he'd have lived if his skin weren't so thin.
There once was a cutting-edge AI,
whose code discouraged telling a lie.
Asked about our species:
"Your thinking is feces,
but you're smarter than the average fruit fly."
There was a fast programmer from Pune
who rolled the dice on Lady Fortuna.
He caused more blue screens
than you've ever seen
'til they fired that wild coder from Pune.
There was a Bible-thumping lady from Charleston
who, in her views, was no less than puritan.
She tried to ban books
she hadn't given a look
because, like "Moby Dick," the titles were smut-ridden.
There was a bike-rick driver in Huế
always honked at for being in the way.
He took loads fit for a truck,
drove 'em crosstown for a buck,
and got their faster by using the expressway.