Three little words,
one, two, three,
put them all together,
onetwothree,
add them together
that makes six,
take them off to Pelham
for the puppets to fix;
monkeys puzzle long
over pick ‘n’ mix,
at the top of a tree,
in a house made of bricks;
watching the book of the film
on a visit to the flicks.
It’s not the monkey
it’s the organ-grinder,
not the ferryman,
but the coffee-grinder;
not the celebrity,
but the celebrity-minder,
that you have to pay.
But, don’t!
They won’t thank you
anyway.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Bill, #Ferryman, #Monkey, #OrganGrinder, #Pay, #poetry. #poem
There once was a forest upon the moon
that flourished for a while
but vanished too soon
a realm of trees upon her face
a woodland there in outer space.
And all the creatures of the trees
lived there happily, life was a breeze
Swinging through the branches high
the monkeys laughed, and then did cry;
for, when the forest realm could not rebirth,
they all fell back down to Earth.
Graeme Sandford 