My father and I frequently try to outdo each other by creating more and more obscure and wonderful collective nouns. The ones that are part of the lexicon are already rather spectacular; a bouquet of pheasants; an unkindness of ravens; a rookery of seals; a generation of vipers; but surely there's no harm in a richer lexicon. This ought to shut him up for a while.
Tens of tens and scores of men
And scorns of riled intruders
Any number of the mass of them
Couldn't stand the sight of them
A Cartesian of numbers seeming all the ruder
Rudimentaries of particles
Magnets of atoms, just let me at 'em
And all the great glorious shinings of photons
The sight of them's more stomachable
Found by you less delectable
Than what's best unseen, a bonding of protons
Well, that was mildly tiring.
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