There was an old person named Fletcher,
Who was carried away on a stretcher.
When he said, “Put me down,” they one-eightied around,
And then brought him back home on the stretcher.
There was a young man on the driveway,
Who tried to put wheels on his Steinway.
He concocted a plan to play Bach and Chopin
While they wheeled him around on the driveway.
There was an old man from Connecticut,
Who couldn’t tell subject from predicate.
His sense of declension was cause of some tension
To people who lived in Connecticut.
There was an old man from Kenosha:
You never saw anything gaucher!
His hair was a frizz and, not only that, his
Manischewitz was not even kosher.
There was a young man on the Midway,
Who wanted to write the Madrid way.
When they said, “Is it likely?” he answered quite rightly,
“There’s no one can write the Madrid way.”