The Owl and the Pussycat

TheOwl&ThePussycat

In 1871, Edward Lear published his children’s poem, “The Owl and the Pussycat”. For those who are not familiar with this whimsical journey, I have taken the liberty to post it below.

The Owl and the Pussycat

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat, /They took some honey, and plenty of money, Wrapped up in a five pound note./  The Owl looked up to the stars above, /And sang to a small guitar,/ “O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are,/ you are,/ you are,/ What a beautiful Pussy you are.”

Pussy said to the Owl “You elegant fowl, How charmingly sweet you sing./ O let us be married, too long we have tarried;/ But what shall we do for a ring?”/ They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the Bong-tree grows,/ And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood With a ring at the end of his nose,/ his nose,/ his nose, /With a ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?”/ Said the Piggy, “I will”/ So they took it away, and were married next day/ By the Turkey who lives on the hill./ They dined on mince, and slices of quince, /Which they ate with a runcible spoon./ And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand./ They danced by the light of the moon,/ the moon,/ the moon,/ They danced by the light of the moon.

I have also posted my recently penned update of Lear’s work. I hope you find this modern whimsical journey informative and thought provoking.

TheOwl&ThePussycat_2

 

The Trump and the Putin 

The Trump and the Putin went to sea all in a right-wing boat/ They took some honey and plenty of money/ Wrapped up in a rubled note./ The Trump looked up to the stars above/And sang to a small bandura,/ “O lovely Putin, O Putin, my love,/ I’m in awe of your bravura;/In awe;/ In awe, In awe of your bravura!

Putin said of the Trump, “What an elegant chump!/How charmingly sweet he sings!/ O lets be married! Too long we have tarried;/ But what shall we do for a ring?/ They sailed away for a year and a day/ To the land where demagogues grow;/ And there in the wood, a Manafort stood/ With a ring at the end of his nose,/ His nose,/ His nose,/ With a ring at the end of his nose.

“Dear Paul Manafort, are you willing to part with Your ring?”/ Said the lobbyist, “I will.”/ So they took it away, and were married next day/ By the Hacker who lives on the hill./ They dined on bytes and fanciful flights/ Which they downed with a mumpsimus spoon/ And hand in hand on the edge of the sand/ They danced by the light of the moon’/ The moon,/ The moon,/ They danced by the light of the moon.