Post Office Romance
The lady at the corner wicket Sold me a stamp, I stooped to lick it, And on the envelope to stick it; A spinster lacking girlish grace, Yet sweetly sensitive, her face Seemed to
Eighty Not Out
In the gay, gleamy morn I adore to go walking, And oh what sweet people I meet on my way! I hail them with joy for I love to be talking, Although I have
A Cabbage Patch
Folk ask if I’m alive, Most think I’m not; Yet gaily I contrive To till my plot. The world its way can go, I little heed, So long as I can grow The grub
Strip Teaser
My precious grand-child, aged two, Is eager to unlace one shoe, And then the other; Her cotton socks she’ll deftly doff Despite the mild reproaches of Her mother. Around the house she loves to
The Land Of Beyond
Have ever you heard of the Land of Beyond, That dreams at the gates of the day? Alluring it lies at the skirts of the skies, And ever so far away; Alluring it calls:
Jobson Of The Star
Within a pub that’s off the Strand and handy to the bar, With pipe in mouth and mug in hand sat Jobson of the Star. “Come, sit ye down, ye wond’ring wight, and have
The Ballad Of Hank The Finn
Now Fireman Flynn met Hank the Finn where lights of Lust-land glow; “Let’s leave,” says he, “the lousy sea, and give the land a show. I’m fed up to the molar mark with wallopin’
Village Virtue
Jenny was my first sweetheart; Poor lass! she was none too smart. Though I swore she’d never rue it, She would never let me do it. When I tried she mad a fuss, So
A Rolling Stone
There’s sunshine in the heart of me, My blood sings in the breeze; The mountains are a part of me, I’m fellow to the trees. My golden youth I’m squandering, Sun-libertine am I; A-wandering,
The Outlaw
A wild and woeful race he ran Of lust and sin by land and sea; Until, abhorred of God and man, They swung him from the gallows-tree. And then he climbed the Starry Stair,
The Petit Vieux
“Sow your wild oats in your youth,” so we’re always told; But I say with deeper sooth: “Sow them when you’re old.” I’ll be wise till I’m about seventy or so: Then, by Gad!
The Bohemian Dreams
Because my overcoat’s in pawn, I choose to take my glass Within a little bistro on The rue du Montparnasse; The dusty bins with bottles shine, The counter’s lined with zinc, And there I
Music In The Bush
O’er the dark pines she sees the silver moon, And in the west, all tremulous, a star; And soothing sweet she hears the mellow tune Of cow-bells jangled in the fields afar. Quite listless,
The Ordinary Man
If you and I should chance to meet, I guess you wouldn’t care; I’m sure you’d pass me in the street As if I wasn’t there; You’d never look me in the face, My
Willie
‘Why did the lady in the lift Slap that poor parson’s face?’ Said Mother, thinking as she sniffed, Of clerical disgrace. Said Sonny Boy: ‘Alas, I know. My conscience doth accuse me; The lady