REMEMBRANCE OF THINGS PAST
All the memories lodged in the brain
Of Marcel, and there doomed to remain,
Are suddenly loosed, when by chance Mr. Proust
Bites into that damn madeleine.
Thus prompted, he writes down the drama
And heartache of waiting for mama
To kiss him good night -- but why can't he write
Without overusing the comma?
He journeys to Balbec, grows keen
On a pretty young thing, Albertine,
On whom he obsesses, but I'll give you three guesses
How that turns out (not to be mean).
His life is pathetic and sordid,
With every last detail recorded.
He's a sick, twisted guy, but he has a keen eye,
And the reader is richly rewarded.
.
Last edited by Roger Slater; 09-08-2011 at 05:31 PM.
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