There was a young lady named Polly
Who was known for her love of melancholy.
Her verse was so sad
It drove us all mad
So we exiled that girl to a folly
Melancholy Polly
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Tag Archives: blogging
Slippers and Kippers
There once was a young lady in slippers
Who was famous for her custard and kippers.
Her food was real nice
But that girl’s only vice
Was serving kippers whilst dressed in just slippers …!
Impermanence
Sometimes I dwell on the impermanence of things.
In early spring the birds sing.
And I pass by grass green from rain.
But the grass will not stay.
The mower will come in sun or rain
And make sweet hay.
But the hay will rot away.
Rain will return again
And I will pass by grass
Lush from the rain
Until I am as the hay.
Hatch Who Was Fond of a Scratch
There once was a writer named Hatch
Who was fond of having a scratch.
He liked to write
With his dog White
Whose fleas would cause Hatch to scratch!
Alarm
The alarm warns me
That my tea
Is ready for me
In the microwave.
There is nothing profound
In It’s sound
Which will not save
Me from the grave
Where no bird
Is ever heard
And worms make tea
Of you and me.
Lust
Lonely men
Engage in deals
With women in heels
Who dance through dust.
And the dance,
As all dances must
Ends in dust.
But, perchance
Some men dance
For fear of dust.
Phlegmatic Matt
There was a phlegmatic young man named Matt
Who was fond of stroking his cat.
When a ghoul appeared
And most wickedly sneered,
He said, “its always a pleasure to chat”.
A Walk in the Rain
As I pass by
These churchyard trees
In the spring rain,
I know I
Must one day die
And these trees outlast me.
But the rain will remain
When they and me
Are one in eternity.
Sally Who Liked to Loiter in an Alley
There was a young lady named Sally
Who liked to loiter in an alley.
When a man called Ted
Said, “is that dress red?”,
She said, “I live near this alley …”.
Blossoming Time
Your hair, long and dark
Brushed my fingers.
In the blossom scented park
My thoughts lingered
On a girl unaware
Of fingers longing to linger
In long soft hair.
I can not induce
Old Time with my rhyme
To return my youth.
Now your hair is dark.
How soon blossom
Falls in the park
And is forgotten.
K Morris - Poet 