I tried to catch her eye
On the 8:15
To East Sheen
But it rolled on the floor
Got caught in the door
Causing a delay
That lasted all day.
Her eye got the squash
But for not much dosh
She bought an eye patch
Which went well with her hat:
A perfect match.
After that traumatic event
Some fury she had to vent.
First she quit her dull job
And became a form of yob.
To be exact:
She became a train pirate
Which went well with her name
(It was Violet)
She sailed the rails all day
Better, certainly, was the pay
The work varied and interesting,
Hours flexible.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
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8 comments :
There once was a pirate called Violet
And though her hat and her patch
Were a quite perfect match
She still missed her eye quite a lot
She bought a glass eye
But only to chuck
At passers-by.
Chucking glass eyes
At all passers-by
Was a habit too profligate
Even for a pirate
So only at guys would she hurl
Unless the girl wore pearls
Or when her train was running late
T-1000 vous etes plus Dieu que l'homme
That's not poetry – it doesn't even rhyme.
A haiku response to the T-2.5K...
The poems I write
Don't always rhyme all the time.
None the less, they rock.
Yes that's true
Like a rock
To the bottom of the sea
They sink
Because they stink.
A haiku response to the T-3450
Sinking like a stone
Wrapped in the sea's embrace
The pearls before swine
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