This prose was just forwarded to me and I had to share…
An old Arab lives close to New York City.
He would love to plant potatoes in his garden, but he is old and weak. His son is in college in Paris, so the old man sends him an e- mail.
“Beloved son, I am very sad, because I can’t plant potatoes in my garden. I am sure if you were here you would help me dig up the garden.”
The following day at 3:45 pm, the old man receives an e-mail response from his son.
“Beloved father, please don’t touch the garden. It’s there that I have hidden ‘the THING’. Love, Ahmed”.
At 4:02 pm, the US Army, the Marines, the Rangers, the Police, officers from the Department of Homeland Security, the FBI and the CIA, visit the house of the old man, take the whole garden apart, search every inch, but can’t find anything.
Disappointed they leave.
A day later, the old man receives another e-mail from his son:
“Beloved Father, I hope the garden is dug up by now and you can plant your potatoes. That’s all I could do for you from here.
Would be even better if someone could string it into a metered rhyme.