Foreigners are people somewhere el
Natives are people at home;
If the place you’re at
Is your habitat,
You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
A shrimp who sought his lady shrim
Could catch no glimpse
Not even a glimp.
At times, translucence
Is rather a nuisance.
I objurgate the centipede,
A bug we do not really need.
At sleepy-time he beats a path
Straight to the bedroom or the bat
You always wallop where he’s not,
In spite of her sniffle,
Some girls with a sniffle
Would be weepy and tiffle;
They would look awful,
Some singers sing of ladies’ eyes,
And some of ladies lips,
Refined ones praise their ladylike
And course ones hymn their hips.
The Oxford Book of English Verse
In fourteen hundred and ninety-two
Someone sailed the ocean blue.
Somebody borrowed the fare in Spa
For a business trip on the boundin
And to prove to the people, by act
There is a knocking in the skull,
An endless silent shout
Of something beating on a wall,
And crying, “Let me out!”
That solitary prisoner
When the thunder stalks the sky,
When tickle-footed walks the fly,
When shirt is wet and throat is dr
Look, my darling, thats July.
Through the grassy lawn be leather
Barber, barber, come and get me;
Hairy torrents irk and fret me.
Hair and hair again appears;
And climbs like ivy round my ears.
Hair across my collar gambols;