I once met a girl with fine features
inviting to myriad creatures.
That gal had the grace
to spit in my face
and call me the foremost of teachers.

I once met a man with a squint
he also liked to suck mints
so his breath did smell
and he often fell
yet his eyes did have a glint

Involvement is something that helps
my heartstrings respawn countless whelps.
I find that my labors
persuade many neighbors
to mimic brave motions of kelps.

but water which turns into wine
is the magic of a wonderful vine
as we drink a toast
to the generous host
we're transported to laughter with shine

When water comes back to my life,
I sense I epitomize strife.
The moistness of water
encumbers each daughter
with starkness as sharp as a knife.

Water is everywhere
See it and you stare
Rain falls a lot
Look what we have got
Water on our hair

One very fine drink remains water,
that source of both carnage and slaughter.
Behavio[u]rs might swim
in rich kinds of whim
till every last son has a daughter.

Wine has much real power, we've been told,
and, so, shouldn't be undersold.
That grape-fraught old wetness
exudes some stark jetness
that urges all sorrow to fold.

Love hates to be bothered by verses
that clearly epitomize curses.
Much uttering hath
enough of strange wrath
to summon the service of nurses.

Ah love the music of life
Long turns a young girl to a wife
It may come with some stings
Or she may spread her wings
But hopefully not with much strife

Love often plays tennis with me
and speaks of some rather hurt knee.
I net the disaster
that comes when each master
finds prospects of pure poesy.

Love can be weak, can be strong
Or it can just shuffle along
The best will endure
With trust that is pure
It's the subject of many a song.

The constancy rumo[u]red to be
some part of fine love cracked its knee.
Right now while it's resting
that fastness keeps testing
large thoughts that could bring life real glee.

When purple intrudes just enough,
I'll guess I might perfectly bluff.
Mere colo[u]ur quite mighty
produces much flighty
responding nor smooth nor quite rough.

Red is the colour of rage
It brightens up any old page
The colour of blood
Or vermillion bud
And some of the flowers of the sage.

My favo[u]rite colo[u]r is green
which often might show you a sheen.
I'm glad to endeavo[u]r
to seem almost clever
while aping some neighbo[u]rhood bean!!!!

A wonderful colour is blue
It comes in so many a hue
When it's in the sky
The weather is dry
But when it turns black you get flu.

There once was a man with a van
who fashioned some perfect new plan.
He mentioned that creatures
possess all the features
that help any car be a can.

Your beautiful fingers appear
to make every meaning more clear.
Your glorious ankles
do nothing that rankles
the world's every wish to seem dear.

There once was a quite jolly parrot
who now and then bit on a carrot.
I warned that fine guy
not ever to vie
with experts that feel life, then share it.

There once was a very big bird
whose cry was considered absurd
for when opening its beak
it let out a squeak
so quiet it could hardly be heard.

When moa birds roamed in this land
Their size dwarfed other birds grand
The Maori all fed
Till all moa were dead
And their bones were all hid in the sand.

Fair questions ensue when we're shunning
examples of absolute punning.
I somehow reach out,
then issue a shout
in favor of nosily running.

Well I do declare
Our famous HUll FAIR
Has opened today
visitors far and away
Visit in the open air

Well croaking with camels sounds fun
especially when eating a bun
and joined by some frogs
from some nearby bog
in a desert? OK! Reality we'll shun!