I’ve said “Yes” too many times to count,
Which leaves massive space for a case of No Doubt,
I doubt that ‘no’ would have changed a thang,
And doubt any happiness it could’a brang,
N’Doubt, such a loss, was a tragic shame,
left Lil’ Doubt, sibling, of lesser fame,
to whose Gramps, the Father-of-all-Doubts, made claim,
using fear to bolster the Family name.
Cousin Whatif, of Cleveland, you might recall—
the most ambiguous N’Dout of all—
Still spells his name with Old Country flair—
Drops the B to add ‘Watshudikare’.
N’Doubt, you know—won the great war
to banish all ‘Maybees’ from near and far—
now plays the harp, of Old Mitaben.
but we don’t have time to listen to him.
‘Cause likely we’ve already spent too much time
on the unfaithful N’Doubt and his long family line,
instead of embracing the ‘Yes’ we picked out—
with Whatifs and Maybees, and their likes, no doubt.
This is such a good, funny poem and I absolutely love it. So charming.