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Today's poems [1.4.07]

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Many many years ago when I was twenty three, 
I got married to a widow who was pretty as could be. 
This widow had a grown-up daughter 
Who had hair of red. 
My father fell in love with her, 
And soon the two were wed. 

This made my dad my son-in-law 
And changed my very life. 
My daughter was my mother, 
For she was my father's wife. 

To complicate the matters worse, 
Although it brought me joy, 
I soon became the father 
Of a bouncing baby boy. 

My little baby then became 
A brother-in-law to dad. 
And so became my uncle, 
Though it made me very sad. 

For if he was my uncle, 
Then that also made him brother 
To the widow's grown-up daughter 
Who, of course, was my step-mother. 

Father's wife then had a son, 
Who kept them on the run. 
And he became my grandson, 
For he was my daughter's son. 

My wife is now my mother's mother 
And it makes me blue. 
Because, although she is my wife, 
She's my grandmother too. 

If my wife is my grandmother, 
Then I am her grandchild. 
And every time I think of it, 
It simply drives me wild. 

For now I have become 
The strangest case you ever saw. 
As the husband of my grandmother, 
I am my own grandpa! 

1.   Vote:    Category: Marriage and Relationships Send this poem to a friend




A wide-bottomed girl named Trasket 
               Had a hole as big as a basket. 
                    A spot, as a bride, 
                    In it now, you could hide, 
               And include with your luggage your mascot. 

2.   Vote:    Category: Miscellaneous Send this poem to a friend




               A young wife in the outskirts of Tass 
               Preferred frigging to going to mass. 
                    Said her husband, "Take Jacques, 
                    Or any young cock, 
               For I cannot live up to your ass." 

3.   Vote:    Category: Marriage and Relationships Send this poem to a friend




A file that big?

It might be very useful.

But now it is gone.

4.   Vote:    Category: Computer Related Send this poem to a friend




               There once was a midwife of Gaul 
               Who had hardly no business at all. 
                    She cried, "Hell and damnation! 
                    There's no procreation--- 
               God made the French penis too small."

5.   Vote:    Category: Ethnic Send this poem to a friend



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 January '07 Poems Issues:
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