I see, she said, blushing ever so faintly. (Not at the penis, of course. At not seeing the penis, of course.) But all's well that ends well. And wouldn't it be a grand poem in an English Anthology. All those eager undergrads working through it. With the teacher explaining what metaphor is. How 'my love is like a red, red rose' isn't. But the bald headed little Irishman is. Cheers, Ursula, wondering if everyone saw the penis but me... ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html