Illustrated limerick

I removed the contents of a cardboard box in the garage this morning, the same one I'd peaked into in September 2009, hoping to finally say good-bye to most of the mementos, some of which I've held onto for almost sixty years. Right, there was a "class prophecy" I'd written and apparently delivered at my elementary school graduation, which would have been May or June 1954. Liberty School, out in the country west of Petaluma, California. Into the recycle bin.
    There were my note cards for my speech two years later, upon graduating as valedictorian (apparently) from Central [junior high] School in Tulare, California:

[Card 1] Tonight in unison, you have heard the graduating class recite the theme of the graduation, The American's Creed.
    Adopted by our government in 1918, The American's Creed was written by Wm. Tyler Page.
    Being a list of the things people believe, it is a statement to keep in mind and never forget....
    [Card 14] ...Communism flourishes in places of poverty and ignorance. If we keep our country's standards high, communism will have less chance of gaining control in the United States. We should help other countries in education and their home life.
    We also are fighting a never-ending battle against disease and the forces of nature....
    [Card 15] The United States is here today. But look what happened to Rome, to Greece, Assyria, and Babylon, one-time world powers. Where are they today?....
    [Card 16] We know all of our educational facilities are the result of tax payers' generous offering, the long-working [sic] hours of the unpaid school board, the never-finished job of our teachers, and the painstaking love and sacrifice of our parents. We feel greatly indebted to these people for their sincerity and perserverance [sic] in fulfilling their duties.
    I hope that you, graduates, feel as I do that we are obligated to these people to do something in return. I hope that you feel that you should strive to become the peace-makers of tomorrow.
    Do you "therefore believe it is your duty to your country to love it; to support its Constitution, to obey its laws, to [Card 17] respect its flag; and to defend it against all enemies"?

Well-indoctrinated eighth-grader. Recycled.
    And, of course, there were high school papers (in English, physics, and civics), and papers from college (including "The Necessary Angel," about which I'd written in 2009 and which I put into the recycle bin this morning), and papers from graduate school (including one in the philosophy of science, December 14, 1966, on whose title page Professor Errol Harris had written, "Refreshingly original; genuine philosophizing," and which I set aside to read again).
  There were two or three dozen photographs, a couple of sketchy journals from the 'sixties, and a few items of correspondence, including a letter from my grandmother Ada Voss, postmarked Hector, Arkansas and dated May 24,1964, the month I graduated from Yale, and addressed to me at 414 Yale Station, New Haven, Conn 06520:

Helo, dear good sweeat prety Marsie was i. glad to get your good letter bless your good heart to thank you thout of your Mama Voss bless you how i do wish you hear whitte me to night i get so lonely hear buy my self [my namesake grandfather, Morris Voss, had died in June 1960, right after I graduated from high school] but i stay busey most all time got a prety garden 8 head cattle mare one dog 3 cats quiet a few chickens so you i stay busey most all time but isent a day are night i dont thank of my good Marsie see we can thank of the Pass but we dont now the feauture wish you hear an [over] spend the sumer with me i would bee so glad i shure dont  no much news i havent eaven been to Russellville since the 29 lase Sept do you have the fim of me you tuck of me in the yard if you do i like to have it so whin you have time rite me  a gain i love you so much will sa good night till we meeat bey xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx i do love you Mama Voss rite me a gain can see you in mind pulling your little read wagion me you picking to matoes picking cucumbers on Porter Sandra place [my father worked for Porter Sanders, who provided a house on his farm outside Farmersville, not far from Tulare; my first experience with school was at Outside Creek Elementary School in Farmersville; I believe that was its name] We shur had a good time xxxxxx

I kept a few of these items.
    I also kept one copy (I found two) of a typescript of a sixty-thousand-word novel I'd written in 1974, a parody of Watergate titled The Unmaking of the President: A Bicentennial Celebration—it was going to be published in 1976, you see. It'll probably be discouraging reading, but two and a fraction pages of handwritten notes from David Obst (who had been Woodward and Bernstein's agent for All the President's Men) contained mostly commending comments, so why not take a look?

But most enjoyably, there were school projects, report cards, and home work of my son and daughter—all of it from San Jose, California, before we moved to North Carolina (in 1983).
    "Emmett Kelly," by Geoff Dean, Allen School, Sixth Grade, on which Mr. Cabral had written in red ink: "Date."
    "Ecuador," by Geoff Dean, Allen School, May 9, 1980, Mr. Howseman-Cabral, Grade Six.
    "The Human Ear," by Geoff Dean, on which his teacher had written "A+. Excellent, well written and illustrated."
    "Tobacco," by Jennifer Dean, May 9, 1980, Allen School, 4th grade, on which Mr. Miyugishima had penned, "Excellent report. I especially like your 'Tobacco Facts,' which is the 'heart' of your report. Glossary is also great."
    And a Time Magazine prophecy by Geoff.

I found a faded, wrinkled, blue-lined sheet on which my son had illustrated a delightful limerick that I guess he must have written about 1980, around age twelve—going by the drawing's similarity to one he did for a usability campaign I was involved in at IBM's Santa Teresa Laboratory at about that time.
    "Limerick," by Geoff Dean:

A girl on the flying trapeze,
Going through her performance with ease,
    Was suddenly frozen.
    Her partner had chosen
A terrible moment to sneeze.