Zilch, is all’s I ever got. My wife, the harpy, continually nags me to take her places.
I thought, “Peru is some place.”
The Inca ruins were breathtaking.
All I heard was, “The mountains are freezing.
So I bought Marjorie a coat made from mountain goat’s wool.
Later that day, we climbed to Machu Picchu.
We were standing on a cliff enjoying the magnificent view when a Harpy Eagle swooped down and seized her.
Soaring into a canyon, he dropped her on the jagged rocks.
He thought she looked like a tasty goat.
Now how’s that for ironic?
A Harpy eating a harpy.
Writer of Wrong 