In yesterday's Wall Street Journal:
[quote]... Okun bucket .... [/unquote]
That's beyond the pale. Pail?
This is about the poem and the poet.
"How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
...And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well—
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well."
There once was a man on Nantucket
Who found him an old oaken bucket
With a hole in the rim
And it occurred to him
He should have been home in Pawtucket.
Thought it would be dirty, didn't you?
Give a man a fish and he can eat for one day; give a man a fishing pole and he will find an excuse to never work again.
Nollidj is power.