Come hear the tale of Arthor Smith,
Reft fruit of husk and sought the pith,
With fingers that were stainéd with

Ink as red as blood.

Rarest of fruits grew ‘pon the bank,
Of river dread, nameless and dank,
All uncaring, young Arthor drank

Juice as red as blood.

The seeds that fell then waxéd great.
Uncaring as came dread his fate,
Still Arthor stood and Arthor ate

Fruit as red as blood.

The roots coiled up, his neck did snap,
Arthor fall and eternal nap.
Come children, see, still runs the sap

Red with Arthor’s blood.

Behind the Rhyme.

Blue was the Belle of the Fluters’ Ball,
Red, white, and green were her suitors tall,
Danced she the dance from wall to wall,
And did the men in the hall enthrall.

Yet when she spake,
The spell did break,
And men, awake,
Cried “Her forsake!”

Blue was the Belle of the Fluters’ Ball,
Wept tears and wine of the bitt’rest gall,
For she spoke too soon and lost it all,
And left the ball and the hall withal.

Behind the Rhyme.

Needle and thread, soon to be wed,
Set to sewing their honeymoon sail.
“Pull the stitch tight, oh my delight,
Pull it tight lest our weaving do fail.”

“Pull it I did, heaven forbid,
That this poor sail should fail in a gale!”
So sailed the ship, trippety zip,
With a honeymoon sail like a veil.

Behind the Rhyme

A sixpence and a tuppence,
An inkpot and a quill,
Sailed away in a dead man’s shoe,
With a sail made from his will.

Said sixpence to the tuppence,
We do not need them here,
We want our boat to stay afloat,
And should dump them off the rear.

And so the quill and inkpot,
Were dropped into the drink!
The sixpence and the tuppence,
Sailed off with laugh and wink.

Without the quill and inkpot,
We’re sailing much too slow!
So they paddled up the river,
As fast as they could go!

Behind the Rhyme