Today's poems [8.21.10]
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There once was a hobo named Bob,
he likes to eat corn on the cob.
He lives in a box,
has holes in his socks,
And likes to eat pork flavour beans.
He sleeps on a bench in the park,
all by himself in the dark.
He sits on the ground
and acts kinda strange,
holds out his hand
and grumbles "spare change?"
Sent by Candy
Have you heard of the Widow O'Riley
Who esteemed her late husband so highly
That in spite of the scandal,
Her umbrella handle
Was made of his membrum virile.
There was a young lady named Clair
Who possessed a magnificent pair.
Or at least so I thought,
Till I saw one get caught
On a thorn, and began losing air.
Lester Moore was a Wells, Fargo Co. station agent for
Naco, Arizona in the cowboy days of the 1880's. He's
buried in the Boot Hill Cemetery in Tombstone, Arizona:
Here lies Lester Moore
Four slugs from a .44
No Les No More.
Our vicar's an absolute lamb;
But when he sat dawn in a jam
On taking his seat
At our sunday school treat
We all heard the poor man say:...
"... Stand up, please, while I say grace !"
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