“Nonsense, complete and utter nonsense!”

Crows in rows,

and Gollum in a column;

can you tell, yet,

that this is going to be

a sort of nonsense poem?

A seagull

and Sméagol,

sharing a field;

one grasps a chip butty,

the other, a mighty ring

he does yield;

but, I shall not tell,

which was which;

and, so, ‘Unfair!’ you yell.

Aragorn was born

on a cool winter’s morn,

and a strapping youth was he;

he called for his pipe,

and he called for his dummy,

and he called for his fiddlers, too.

Which reminds me of Old King Cole,

that merry monarch,

who had a pet Dover Sole,

that he kept in the English Channel.

Once upon a time,

I wrote a little rhyme,

and was as happy as can be –

that also reminds a song to me.

So, it ends,

with crows still in rows,

but, Gollum,

now perched atop the heights

of Nelson’s tall column.

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