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Poems about Humour
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Well, my daddy left home when I was three,
and he didn't leave much to Ma and me,
But please walk softly as you do.
Frogs dwell here and crickets too.
"SISTER, sister, go to bed!
Go and rest your weary head."
It was the man from Ironbark who struck the Sydney town,
He wandered over street and park, he wandered up and down.
Once there was an elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant—
Everyone grumbled. The sky was grey.
We had nothing to do and nothing to say.
A short direction
To avoid dejection,
One evening at dusk as Noah stood on his Ark, Putting green oil in starboard side lamp,
The sons of the Prophet are brave men and bold
And quite unaccustomed to fear,
A hippo sandwich is easy to make.
All you do is simply take
The Camel's hump is an ugly lump Which well you may see at the Zoo;
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
Wee, sleeket, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!
He tried to spit out the truth;
Dry-mouthed at first,
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
Knock knock!
Who's there?
Once upon a midnight chilling, as I held my feet unwilling O'er a tub of scalding water, at a heat of ninety-four;
From dusk to dawn, From town to town,
It was the Man from Waterloo,
When work in town was slack,
There are too many kids in this tub
There are too many elbows to scrub
Mary stood in the kitchen
Baking a loaf of bread.
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze;
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days;
God says to me with a kind of smile,
"Hey how would you like to be God awhile
When once I wished to drink some gin
It said "You must not quaff".
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots.
Some dummy built this pencil wrong,
The eraser's down here where the point belongs,
The day after Christmas, young Albert Were what's called, confined to his bed,
The lanky hank of a she in the inn over there Nearly killed me for asking the loan of a glass of beer:
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn't just one of your holiday games;
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