Bad Eggs in Time
Another year has run its course,
We played Divorce and Letter;
Our attitudes have gotten worse—
Our acting little better.
We have comprised a motley crew,
As tart a group as any;
Of actors we have had a few,
Of loud directors many.
Our true director Philip begged
Rehearsals often tedious.
We learned that God would break our legs,
Then Mrs. Stine would feed us.
When Vince’s amorous shalom
Might leave us with a man short,
Our flirt was called back to ‘the home’
From his asylum transport.
If Hawthorne we improved a bit,
The Essex show surprised.
If Dr. Howard had seen it
He’d have been galvanized.
We’ve lived it out and found it so,
It’s more than just a rhyme:
With Princemere and with Stine you’ll grow
To like bad eggs in time.
Our lizards, then, have turned to love,
And we have wished to show
That hope none but the Readers of
The Stine can ever… really… truly… know.
April 16, 1987