Poet John from Kurrajong
Was writing poems far too long,
People gave them all the flick,
So now he writes the limerick,
His short efforts going strong.
Grandma Strong from Kurrajong
Wore a set of false teeth,
Each night she'd take them out
To give her mouth relief.
She'd put them in some water
To keep them nice and clean,
When she woke she'd brush them
And put them back where they'd been.
However this night it was very cold,
Her teeth froze in the water,
Still the same when morning came,
The ice had really caught her.
She couldn't do her shopping,
She couldn't talk on the phone,
She had to wait for her teeth to thaw
Before she left her home.
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Out in the bushland, no street lights around
No sheltering tent, we lay on the ground
Close by a green pool and Kurrajong tree
Alone by ourselves, just Willow and me
The bushland at night is dark as black tar
A million bright twinkles, each one a star
The moon, just a sliver, riding up high
No clouds to obscure, and rain a far cry
Way off in the distance low eerie moans
Raised hairs on my neck, a chill in my bones
But Willow just snuffled, curled in a ball
No fright in her hackles, no fear at all
Slow dying embers, a lone dingo’s cry
A night in the bushland under the sky
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