A young lady dressed as a ghost
Haunts gentleman’s kitchens, whilst looking for toast.
She likes it quite hot
With a big cream pot.
But let us return to the toast!
A Young Lady Dressed As A Ghost
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A Young Lady Whose Morals Are Lose
A young lady whose morals are loose
Rode through the streets on a goose.
When I called her immoral,
It led to a quarrel,
So I roasted that young lady’s goose!
The Weather Was Chill
The weather was chill,
And the park still.
Few birds I heard
On this spring day.
Dickinson spoke, of feathered hope.
I would like to say
That Emily’s feathered thing
Will, through it’s song, bring
To birth a much brighter day.
But things don’t work that way.
When A Ghost Whose Name Is Dave
When a ghost whose name is Dave
Arose from a most ancient grave
And said, “you should be very scared!”,
I said, “have you not heard
Dave, that I am very brave!”.
All Along the Watchtower by Chris De Burgh
I find this song both enigmatic and sinister
He Stood to the Side of the Path
He stood to the side of the path
So that I might in safety pass.
I turned my face away
On a beautiful, spring day.
But thanked him with a smile, while
Pondering on what constitutes a safe distance,
And the persistence
Of common courtesy.
And what did he
Think of me
As I turned my face away?
I can not say,
But suspect he understood
As we did pass
Along that tranquil, woodland path.
My Poetic Well is Dry
My poetic well is dry.
A virus of some kind
Slows my body and mind.
Much loved books remain untouched.
Sleep is my friend.
I know not where this will end.
