There was a young lady called Chauntele
Who I knew more than well.
Of an evening late
We met at her gate
Strawberries for to sell.
There was a young lady called Chauntele
Who I knew more than well.
Of an evening late
We met at her gate,
But I promised not to tell …
A young lady whose morals were loose
Did the local vicar seduce.
His bishop, named Dave
Looked very grave
And his wife, she turned quite puce!
There was a young lady called Beth
Who refused to dance with Death.
But come close of day
He had his way
And Beth she waltzed with Death
There was a young man called Paul
Who composed a limerick about a ball.
It said nothing profound
And went round and round
And how it ended – I don’t recall
There once was a man called Glass
Who came from the upper class.
His housemaid Claire
Was young and fair
And she polished her master’s brass.
There once was a lady called Rose
Who was a writer of prose.
Being a young lady of fashion
She showed great compassion
For a poet who wore shabby clothes
Each text
Would the bishop vex
Where he to know
So
Let us draw a discreet veil
Over his daughter’s conversation
Lest he turn pale
And the congregation
Find something other than hymns
To sing. Yet I think
That I see the devil wink.
I hear him whisper low
“You know
The bishop also
Has his sins …”.
There was a young lady called Flair
Who indulged in many an affair.
Her husband Ted
Found me under their bed
With Flair and his blonde mistress Claire …
There was a young lady called Aphrodite
Who lost her see-through nightie.
She searched high and lo
And I really don’t know
Who has her see-through nightie …
There was a young man called Guy
Who said “a Socialist am I”,
As his housemaid Jane
Poured champagne
For me and my friend Guy
K Morris - Poet 