The Vicar's Laxative - Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
There once was a Vicar named Groon
he was raised with a true silver spoon.
And at bedtime he'd take
for his haemorrhoids' sake
a large dish of a stew made from prune.
When the sun said 'good night' to the moon
and arranged itself like a balloon
he would run to the loo
without further ado
and discharged juice of prune very soon.
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