Short Poems

There were the roses, in the rain.
Don't cut them, I pleaded.
They won't last, she said.
But they're so beautiful where they are.
Agh, we were all beautiful once, she said,
and cut them and gave them to me in my hand.

There was an old woman in Surrey,
Who was morn, noon, and night in a hurry,
Called her husband a fool,
Drove her children to school;
The worrying old woman of Surrey.

There was an old woman as ugly as sin,
Who lived upon Lucifer-matches and gin;
But she was so greedy, and ate such a many,
You could not have kept her a week on a penny.

There was a young lady of Wilts,
Who walked up to Scotland on stilts;
— When they said it was shocking
— To show so much stocking,
She answered: " Then what about kilts? "

There was a young lady of Kent,
Who always said just what she meant.
People said, "She's a dear--
So unique--so sincere."
But they shunned her by common consent.

There was a man made a thing,
And he that made it did it bring;
But he 'twas made for did not know
Whether 'twas a thing or no.

There was a little girl, she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead;
And when she was good, she was very, very good,
And when she was bad, she was horrid.

There was a faith-healer of Deal,
Who said: "Although pain isn't real,
If I sit on a pin
And it punctures my skin,
I dislike what I fancy I feel.'

There once was a wicked young minister
Whose conduct was thought to be sinister.
By ruses nightmarish
he seduced the whole parish
except for one squeamish old spinster.

There once was a man of Bengal
Who was asked to a Fancy Dress Ball;
He murmured: "I'll risk it
And go as a biscuit!'
But the dog ate him up in the hall.