“I am the girl with tiny arms”
You said. and now I
Sigh, and think on the charms
Of the tiny arms
Of a girl of 20 or so.
Although I know
That it will
Never be so.
Still, a man may,
Fruitlessly, pray.
There once was a wasp with no sting
Who said, “life is a most unfair thing,
As when I attack
They always come back”,
And he wept at the lack of a sting.
I know a young lady named Bland
Who is fond of the handstand,
But her dress being short
I think that I ought
To warn that young lady Bland!
When a young lady whose name is Jane
Said, “there is much pleasure in pain.
I shall go first
For better or worse,
I said, “just board the blooming train!”.
Verdant flowers.
Lovers under a tree
Taste fruit.
Unnoticed, a serpent slithers.
Sometimes I would
That I could
Write about flowers,
Yet the night
Hours slowly pass
And my thought
Runs on lass
And ought?
‘Tis strange how interpretations differ.
Some will
Read a poem “as is”,
But what is “as is?”
When all is still
At night
The poet may
Stay away
And write
A verse
Or, with a curse
Taste the apple of Eve
Although he does know
That he should leave
The fruit, once sweet
Untasted, he will eat.
Under the sterile
Sheet they meet
For a while,
And smile
The smile
Of the crocodile.
When a young lady whose name is Ria
Wore a dress both short and sheer,
A cyclist called Mike
Fell off his bike,
And they married the very next year.
When a young lady named Rose
Bought a set of completely clear clothes,
The people, being rude
Said, “you are nude!”,
Why they said that, nobody knows!
When a waitress whose name is Fay
Said, “your bill you must certainly pay”,
I asked her to dance,
But, when she looked askance,
I ran like the clappers away!
