These here are the facts, very nearly true,
all about this lady I knew who
ate kale as though it was good for you.
And she seemed to be hardly mad at all,
but being less short than she was tall,
had more than a little way to fall.
So when she became not wholy sober,
one day in the month before October,
surprise, surprise, she toppled ober.
Was she simply so tight her gait got loose
from that old familiar juice abuse?
Or was she only a clumsy goose?
Or should the mother have taught her daughter
to be more erect and grow more shorter
and to eat less kale and drink more water?
A limerick to some her majesty dat is super in rhymin so enjoyable.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I eat healthily but drink til I'm sober! I drink through September Right into October I'm tall more than short and the Ditsiest Clown, with the aid of a drink I quite often fall down So eating a diet That rivals a saint Is rather misleading As one I sure ain't Loved your funny poem!