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St. Patrick’s Day! St. Patrick’s Day! Oh! thou tormenting Irish lay— I’ve got thee buzzing in my brain, And cannot turn thee out again. Oh, mercy! music may be bliss But not in such a shape as this, When all I do, and all I say, Begins and ends in Patricks’s Day. Had it but been in opera shape, Italian squall, or German scrape, Fresh from the bow of Paganini, Or caught from Weber of Rossini, One would not care so much—but, oh! The sad plebeian shame to know An old blind fiddler bore away My senses with St. Patrick’s Day. I take up Burke in hopes to chase The plaguing phantom from its place; But all in vain—attention wavers From classic lore to triplet quavers; An “Essay” on the great “Sublime” Sounds strangely set in six-eight time. Down goes the book, read how I may, The words will flow to Patrick’s Day.

April 5, 1955 - March 1, 2024 In the cosmos of battles, where power ascends, Dragon Ball, where the saga extends. Akira Toriyama's hand, a storyteller bold, Crafting narratives, in the Saiyan stronghold. Goku, the warrior with hair of gold, From the Saiyan Saga, his story unfolds. Raditz to Frieza, a crescendo of might, Toriyama's pen orchestrating the fight. Vegeta, the prince with pride untamed, Transformations fierce, where destinies are named. Cell's perfection, an android's threat, Toriyama's script, a riveting duet. Majin Buu, a creature so divine, A tale of redemption, where mortals shine. From the Otherworld to the Tournament of Power, Toriyama's genius, an endless tower. Z Fighters united, facing cosmic strife, Toriyama's canvas, a portrait of life. Piccolo's wisdom, Gohan's latent power, In every episode, Toriyama's hour. Dragon Balls scattered across the land, Wishes made, as destiny is planned. Shenron's roar, echoing in the night, Toriyama's quill, a guiding light. As

'Twas The Night Before Christmas 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds; While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny rein-deer, With a little old driver so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now