O Mother Goose with feathered pen,
You taught me rhyme back when, back then—
When cows jumped moons and stars would sing,
And nonsense wore a golden ring.
O Doctor Seuss with zany flair,
You painted worlds hung in midair—
With Cats in Hats and Sneetches bold,
And green eggs best not served cold.
Together, rhyme was your parade,
With every beat and sound you made
You turned the tongue into a toy—
A playground for a girl or boy.
So here’s to Goose, and cheers to Seuss,
Your rhymes let language run loose,
And if all verse must one day end—
It should, like yours, begin again.