The poet’s muse
Wears down at heel shoes
And sleeps
And weeps.
Yet, in his poem she is beauty personified
Who never cries.
And when she and the poet dies
She may live on
Through future ages,
Preserved midst the pages
Of some book.
Though she be gone
Readers will look
And see a perfect view
Where no muddy shoe
Was ever worn
And no heart
Was ever torn.
Or perhaps his art
Will be true
To his readers
And to his muse
In her muddy shoes.
There was a young lady named Hocking
Who engaged in conduct most shocking.
I can not repeat
But it concerned bare feet,
And a vicar who stole a stocking!
There was a young man with a blister
Who composed a complex tongue twister.
It twists and it turns
And concerns fragile earns,
And it really irritates my sister!
A bangle
Given to me
By thee
Over wine
Did mine
Heart entangle
With thine.
Now I carry with me
Something of thee,
For a girl’s bangle
Does entangle
Thine heart
With mine.
There was a young man of Fife
Who had a very hard life,
So to make his world sunny
He married his sweet honey,
Who led him a very hard life …
When a young lady by the name of Lou
Asked, “do you love me true?”,
I said, “by the bright stars above
Its you who I love,
But the pub it closes at 2!.
When a young lady whose name is Joan
Said, “please, just leave me alone!”,
I replied with a sigh,
“I am a tolerant guy,
But please, stop calling me on your phone!”.
When a poet whose name is Lou
Said, “the time it has just gone 2”,
I said, “you have the wrong time,
But at least we can rhyme”,
And then she threw her shoe!
—
When a young lady whose name was Kate
Remarked, “you really do prate!”,
I said, “my pet alligator
Has eaten many a waiter,
But he has never eaten a Kate!”.
There are many ointments
For stings
And similar things.
And, for life’s disappointments
There is art,
Which, though it may not cause the heart
To sing
May, perchance, ease the sting
Of the she
Who rejects thee.
On going to bed last night
I saw a young lady with a kite.
When I asked, “what are you doing here?”
She said, “the night being drear
And your window so near,
I flew in here with this kite!”.
K Morris - Poet 