One Irish spring morn,
a wee leprechaun
saw a little pink pig
a-dancing a jig.
Its trotters were flying
all over the place.
Leprechaun cried “Pig,
you are a disgrace.”
“I’m full of the whisky,
that’s why I’m so frisky,”
cried Pig, with a shout
as it fell on its snout.
The folks came a-trotting
to see what was what-ing,
to gaze on the sight
of the pig who was tight.
They proceeded to pick up
that pig with the hiccup.
They took it away
and late that same day,
they dined on some Spam
and lots of boiled ham
and washed it all down
with a drop of the ‘brown’.
The leprechaun went back home to his dell
and took with him lots of boiled bacon, as well.
So, pink pigs take warning,
who drink in the morning,
if you want to get tight,
drink your whisky… at night!
Marion Sharville ©

A Carrot in the Toaster

I’ll put a carrot in the toaster,
a pot of face cream in my shoe.
Anything will do
as long as it is out of place;
a silent clue what I must do
to see me through
this ‘clean forgotten’ phase.

A handkerchief, tied in a knot,
once helped a lot.
A different issue, is a tissue.

A diary to rely on,
is the answer, if I choose it,
but then, I’d only lose it.

I will create a memory-mate.
Not a lot of people boast a
carrot in the toaster.

© Marion Sharville

The Pimple-headed-noceros

The Pimple-headed-noceros,
Despite its hyphened name,
Has no distinctive features
And has no claim to fame.

In sleep, it counts the pimples,
Which pustulate its head
but if it reaches ninety-five
They burst and wreck the bed.

© Marion Sharville

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