There was a young lady called Meg
Who laid a very large egg.
When the journalists came round
They found nothing profound
As Meg was pulling their leg …!
There Was A Young Lady Called Meg
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Tag Archives: poetry
Hooks
He in his naughty
Forties,
She eighteen or so.
The lamps burn low
As they hang their coats on a hook
And sit down to dine.
The waitress pours wine
Into their glasses
And looks
At hooks
That gleam in the lamp’s low light.
There will be no need for passes
Tonight.
Friday Humour
There was a young man of Doncaster
Who decided his wall to plaster.
He drank lots of beer
Which made him feel queer
And led to a plaster disaster!
—
When a naughty young lady called Bess
Stole a little black dress
A store detective named Guy
Said, with a sigh
“You’ll look great in that little black dress …!”.
—
A pretty young lady called Nell
Rang upon my bell.
I was elsewhere at the time
Composing an intricate rhyme
As I did her large boyfriend tell …
Prelude
Tis easy to forget
Regret
In a girl’s bright eyes.
For betwixt her life-giving thighs
Man for a moment dies
In love or lust.
‘Tis a prelude
Ere he does conclude
Where dust
Does replace
The girl’s pretty face
And man is bust.
I Know A Young Lady Called May
I know a young lady called May
Who told me a limerick risqué.
I experienced delight
Throughout the night
But she won’t repeat it today
There Was A Young Lady Called Lorraine
There was a young lady called Lorraine
Who’s character lacked any stain.
An old rake named Paul
Said “most girls fall,
But I can not conquer Lorraine!”.
There was a young lady called Lorraine
Who’s character lacked any stain.
While on her wedding bed
She most properly said
“My virtue I shall retain!”.
Hocking
A young lady by the name of Hocking
Was always my poetry mocking.
When she passed away
I’m sorry to say
That her end was truly shocking …
There was a young lady called Hocking
Who lost a fine silk stocking.
A vicar named Hogg
Owned a large black dog
Which ate that fine silk stocking …
The Evening Falls
The evening falls.
Bird calls
Gradually fade.
The woodland glade
Resounds to the owl’s cry.
I sigh
And read on.
Another day has gone.
And now tis poetry
And me.
(The birds of the day are, to my mind, very different from the owl. As day ends, the night bird resumes his throne, and the birds of the day are silent until the morrow).
I Know A Young Lady of Cadiz
I know a young lady of Cadiz
Who’s name was Louise or Liz.
When the police went looking for her
She changed into Claire
And we’re sat here drinking fizz …
Kim
I know a young lady called Kim
Who asked that I the lights dim.
So I turned them down low
And turned round real slow,,
But Kim had run away with Jim!
I met a young lady called Kim
Who asked that I the lights dim.
So I turned them down low
And turned round real slow.
And Kim was petite and slim …
K Morris - Poet 