The pleasure
Of hot
Weather.
Knowing not
Whether
The rain will come.
A cloud burst.
Relieves a thirst.
The rain does run.
But the pleasure
Of hot, wet weather
Soon is done.
And the wise,
Gazing into a stranger’s eyes,
Know that ’tis folly
To forget a brolly.
Yet, they still thirst
For the cloud to burst.
And the pleasure
Of hot wet weather
On unbrollied skin.
So take the rain in.
When a young lady named Miss Lou
Said, “sir, I really do like you!”.
I said, “that’s real nice.
But you’ve told me twice!
And with Sue it’s more than 2!”.
I have no resistance
To the lonely train
Which calls
From the distance.
Nor to the rain
Which falls,
In this dark park.
When a young man whose name is Rory
Said, “sir, I’ve heard your politics are Tory”.
I said, “your friend Monk
Is drunk as a skunk.
And you should never discuss politics, young Rory!”.
—
When a young man whose name is Rory
Said, “sir, I’ve heard your politics are Tory”.
I said, “that Miss Witty
Is more than just pretty.
But I don’t know if she’s a Tory!”.
A young lady whose name is Jane
Is an expert in pleasure and pain.
She is tall and thin
And fond of her gin.
And they say Jane owns a cane!
K Morris - Poet 