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Poems about Humour
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Once, on a time and in a place
Conducive to malaria,
Forth went the candid man
And spoke freely to the wind --
Secluded from domestic strife,
I went to an auction To bid for a chair;
The sun burns hotly thro' the gums
As down the road old Rogan comes -
Francois Xavier Auguste was a gay Mousquetaire,
The Pride of the Camp, the delight of the Fair:
When Ironbark the turtle came to Anthony's lagoon
The hills were hid behind a mist of equinoctial rain,
Oh, I never felt so wretched, and things never looked so blue
Since the days I gulped the physic that my Granny used to brew;
They told me it was metal, but I didn't believe a word.
But now I find it's iron of the strongest, finest kind.
The smell of arnica is strong,
And mother's time is spent
When I was a lad of twenty and was working in High Street, Ken.,
I made quite a pile in a very little while - I was a bustle maker t
whence your unlucky feet brought you,
cursed ones of the age, worst of poets.
Poor Tray charmant!
Poor Tray de mon Ami!
"OH, when I was a little Ghost,
A merry time had we!
That's got no more discretion than
An idiotic goose?
JOHN courts Perrette; but all in vain;
Love's sweetest oaths, and tears, and sighs
The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious Cat: If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse.
A man once read with mind surprised
Of the way that people were "hypnotised";
Three little birds in a row
Sat musing.
We've got another mouth to feed,
From out our little store;
When my last long-beer has vanished and the truth is left unsaid;
When each sordid care is banished from my chair and from my bed,
THE COLONEL stopped, and glared around,
Then, pointing sternly to the ground,
Now ye gallant Sydney boys, who have left your household joys
To march across the sea in search of glory,
Underneath protected branches, from the highway just aloof;
Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof.
The old man sat upon his swag his eyes were red and bleared. I doubt he’d had a wash for days or even combed his beard.
The old bridge has a wrinkled face.
He bends his back
Now the new chum loaded his three-nought-three,
It's a small-bore gun, but his hopes were big.
From the madding crowd they stand apart,
The maidens four and the Work of Art;
Every morning you wait,
clothes, over a chair,
Gray eyes and gamboge hair!
One barmaid of "The Crown"!
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