There was an Old Person of Philæ,
Whose conduct was scroobious and wily;
He rushed up a Palm,
When the weather was calm,
And observed all the ruins of Philæ.
There was a young fella named Pete
Who was born with two uneven feet;
He was tall - a six-footer,
But veered to the gutter
Whenever he walked down the street.
(Written Nov 2012)
There was an old man who felt pert
When he wore a pale rose-coloured shirt.
When they said 'Is it pleasant?'
He cried 'Not at present--
It's a little to short -- is my shirt!'
There was an Old Man of Marseilles,
Whose daughters wore bottle-green veils;
They caught several Fish,
Which they put in a dish,
And sent to their Pa' at Marseilles.
There once was a poem that I read
the words keep getting stuck in my head
if I could remember
that rhyme of September
my memory would remember the title instead
There was a humorous president,
Whatever he said—that he meant.
Barring all else,
He made fun of himself.
For he was a comedian’s mint.
There was an Old Man of the Nile,
Who sharpened his nails with a file,
Till he cut out his thumbs,
And said calmly, 'This comes
Of sharpening one's nails with a file!'
There was a young person whose history
Was always considered a mystery.
She sate in a ditch,
Although no one knew which,
And composed a small treatise on history.
There was an old lady from Cuba,
Who loved playing a big old bass tuba.
But Fidel said 'oh no,
That tubas got to go.'
Now she plays jazz guitar in Aruba.
There was a young sculptor from Thanet
Who's favourite medium was granite;
But everyone booed
At his statue, so rude
That the censors decided to ban it.
(Written Oct 2012)