November 21, 2012 in humour, Nonsense rhyme, Really Awful Rhyme, Wordplay, Writing

I dug this up out of a collection of my verses I started compiling a year or so ago. It was brought to mind by a recent post of Kate Shrewsday.


Death is a bony tailor,

And be you mean or proud,

Or a success or failure,

He’ll fit you for a shroud.


Whenever Death may come to call

He never is bespoke –

One sighs at his, ‘ONE SCYTHE FITS ALL!’

(That is a cutting joke!)


So therefore one deduces

He lisps in what he says –

Conclusion that produces:

His real name is DES?


© November 2012 Colonialist (WordPress/blogs24)

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