I stopped to smell the roses this morning: they were the real McCoy, the stuff that dreams are made of. So I figured I’d better get the tiger by the tail, bite the bullet, and hammer out a few clichés.
BACK TO SQUARE ONE
don’t beat around the bush: the salt 
of the earth often hit
the panic button before getting older
and wiser because to err is human
so make my day, look
before you leap, then put your nose
to the grindstone; I’ll keep
an eye on you when you bring home
the bacon or bite the dust
then, if the shoe fits, jump
on the bandwagon, get your moment
of glory as it’s all fun
and games when you’re caught
red-handed with ants in your pants
