With facility and polish, but not much gusto, McCord conducts a staccato conversation on a butterfly sighted in a field; recalls the dubious joys of the roller coaster; looks askance at some conventional representations of animal vocalizations (""lambs bleat? . . . cows moo? . . .""); turns limericks into stiff, enjambment-riddled mouth traps; and bases other rhymes on puns or points of grammar or a list of Persian words. His rhymes might be used as models of light verse technique, but they are all very dry, however accomplished. Word play for little professors.