There was a young lady called Molly
Who purchased an expensive brolly.
Much to her dismay
The brolly blew away,
So she bought a shopping trolley!
—
There was a young lady called Holly
Who was extremely posh and jolly.
She married a man of lowly station,
Which caused her family much consternation,
But the vicar was fat and jolly!
There was a young author named Hurn
Who lived in a place called Pitcairn.
He wrote about a girl he knew,
Which one aught not to do!
So they drummed him out of Pitcairn!
There was a young Man called Mcqueen
Who was part of a certain scene.
He wrote a book,
At which I refuse to look,
But I hear its quite obscene …!
Summer is stinging bees
And flies on the cheese
That mother put out,
(Oh hear her shout)!
Summer is a gentle breeze
That ruffles the skirts
Of girls who tease
And flirt.
Summer is too much wine
And crossing a line
Though (at the time)
This seemed perfectly fine …
Her profession
Was discretion.
His obsession
Was her profession.
Hearing their confession
Was the priest’s profession …
There was a young lady called Bess
Who wore a very short dress.
The vicar’s daughter walked by
And said, with a sigh
“Would that I could that way dress!”
There was a young poet called Leigh
Who wrote using free verse.
Sometimes she would find
That not using rhyme
Was a bit of a bind,
So wrote using verse that was free!
There was a young man called more
Who’s head was extremely sore.
He denied that it was drink
But the devil did wink
At the empties on the floor!
(“empties” means empty bottles. In this case of the alcoholic kind).
There was a young man called Hawking
Who wished to go to Dawking.
He missed his train
And cried out in pain,
“I guess I should start walking!”
An elderly crocodile
Lazing in the Nile
Did spy
A young maiden walking by.
Heaving a deep sigh
He said “my life here
In this river
Is so drear.
Why dost thou quiver
With fear?
Come you near
My dear.
We shall drink fine wine
And together dine”.
“Sir crocodile”
(The young maiden made reply, with a smile),
“It is getting late
And my mother does at home wait.
I fear
My dear
Sir that your plate
Shall empty be,
And as for me
I must home to tea,
And then to sleep
For young maidens are forlorn
And mothers weep
When the crocodile does yawn!”
K Morris - Poet 