Author Anonymous Master Monday, how's your wife? Very sick, and like to die. Can she eat? O yes, As much as I can buy. She makes the porridge very thin, A pound of butter she puts in, Black puddin', white clout, Eerie, orrie, you are out! Tags Short Poems Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments