An anoying young lady named White
Keeps me awake at night.
At 12 am
I am sleeping when
She sings “Silent night!”.
—
An anoying young lady named White
Keeps me awake at night.
At 12 am
I am sleeping when
She dances a sailor’s hornpipe!
—
I said to my friend Miss White
“Your company is a true delight.
We have strolled together
Through all kinds of weather,
But must you swing from the bedroom light?”
Awaking at 3 am
I took up my quill pen,
But being unable to think
I drank some black ink,
And swallowed that quil pen.
—
Awaking at 3 am
I took up my quill pen,
But being unable to think
I took to strong drink,
And conversed with a chicken called Glen.
While out in the fields making hay
I met a young lady named Fay.
By the light of the moon
We ran the egg and spoon,
And then we collapsed in the hay!
When a young man whose name is Dave
Refused, point blank, to shave,
His very stern father
Got in a lather
And shaved that young man named Dave!
There was a young lady of Moscow
Who purchased an arrow and bow.
A god called Cupid
(Who was somewhat stupid)
Stood on that young lady’s toe!
On my way back home last night
I saw a young woman in white.
She stood under a street lamp
And her stilettoed feet she did stamp,
For it was cold last night!
Awaking as the clock struck midnight
I saw a young woman in white.
When I said, “are you a vampire?”
She replied, “no, I’m the squire.
And this dress is far too tight!
when a young lady whose name is Rose
Composed a poem about crows,
A priest called Paul
Said, “how angels do fall!”,
Which puzzled that young lady Rose.
When a young lady whose name is Skinner
Invites me round for dinner,
We drink lots of wine
But we never dine,
So I’m growing ever thinner!
—
A young lady whose name is White
Says one day she might.
I’m waiting still
And wonder will …
Do you think she might?
—
On my way through the churchyard at midnight
I met a young woman in white.
When I said, “who are you?”
She replied, “believe me, its true,
I’m a girl who dresses in white!
When a poet whose name is Rose
Composed a poem about Toes,
A critic called Paul
Said, “that is no poem at all!”,
So she bopped him right on his nose!
K Morris - Poet 