Ode to my Tongue--by Buster

My tongue is with me all the time,

It flaps in the breeze and trails behind.




It discourses at length on subjects arcane,

And laps at my water-dish or catches the rain.




No organ can match its numerous uses,

Like wiping my nose or summoning muses.




My tongue is my brain and my conscience and soul,

It speaks what it pleases, then attacks my food bowl.




And should I fall out of an airplane, its moot.

My tongue will serve well as my own parachute.




I love my tongue!

Buster