Friday, January 2, 2009
The Little White Lie
I've tried the world sober.
I've tried the world drunk.
I've tried the world happy.
I've tried the world sunk.
And this much I tell you
as fact, not surmise:
You'll get along better
on little white lies.
Your boss wants to hear
what he's done right today
and not that his fly
has come open half way.
Your spouse needn't know
of a notable gain
in weight, simply state
you're in awe of her brain.
The children of neighbors,
though ugly as sin,
can be praised for clothes
that are neat as a pin.
Always tell Rabbi
and cleric and priest,
their sermon, though long,
was a heavenly feast.
The garbage man praise
for the shine on his shoes,
ignoring the smell
like an infected bruise.
Teachers, professors,
meander -- oh well --
tell 'em you're sorry
when you hear the bell.
When grandparents call
to complain of neglect,
just tell 'em you've joined
a religious mime sect.
You will be coddled
and loved 'til you die
if you will but practice
the little white lie.
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