Treasure Island

Graham Fowell


Forewarned Is Forearmed


My arm keeps bringing me lager
And much more than I really need;
When I just wanted to sit there
To contemplate life or to read.

Take Monday night for example,
While I sat quietly there,
My arm brought me nine pints of Fosters
And later I fell off my chair

Submitted: Monday, July 14, 2014
Edited: Monday, July 14, 2014

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Topic(s): humour

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Poem of the Day

poet George Gordon Byron

So we'll go no more a-roving
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And the moon still be as bright.

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