Some New Nonsense With Same Old Lear

There was a young author in Britain Who regretted each place he'd written.

For to earn daily 'pence,

He wrote books of nonsense,

Though with great works of art he was smitten.

Lear's fame for his Limericks rose.

Headjusted to it, I suppose.

He sighed over Goya,

But heated his foyer,

Writting "Dong With the Luminous Nose."

Now a new book by Lear has appeared

Which to collectors will be endeared.

But for popular taste,

It may be too chaste,

For the author has since been out-Leered.

"There was an old person of Bradley

Who sang so loudly and sadly

With a poker and tongs

He beat time to his songs

That melodious old person of Bradley."

Though this bit of Lear poesy is nice,

Anonymous poets nowadays spice

Their efforts with naughty

(And frequently bawdy)

Rocitals of intriguing vice.

Still, Lear's drawings and verses are quaint;

He fared better in nonsense than paint.

Adults enjoy much

His bright, child's touch.

In all, there's but a single complaint:

Should a man get the book as a gift, he will, no doubt, judge each page as quite nifty.

Yet there are but three-score,

And he might justly roar,

" 'Tis criminally small for three-fifty!" An Old Person of Twickenham