More Poetry Rattling in the Old Noggin

So I wrote something along the lines of, "... and she said so with a grin."

Then my mind broke into a recitation of

"And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin."

All these little phrases are like "PLAY" buttons, little neural switches in my brain, and the "with a grin" switch immediately fires up "Sam McGee." (Yes, there's a pun in there. If you don't recognize it, read the poem. It's de-light-ful.)