Write-er

A large, prestigious college had a large, prestigious hall,And through its doors came visitors. It welcomed one and all,A bright, brass plaque was fixed o’er where the people walked each day,Upon it clearly written the hall’s name of Hemingway.
There one day came a man, (a tourist and a writer, too)Who took a tourist’s glee in all the rooms that he went through. Who clapped with pleasure when he saw that name upon that plaque,“Why, Hemingway’s my favourite!” said the man. (Let’s call him Jack.)
“As a fellow writer, I have read most everything he wrote,“And don’t tell anyone, but he’s my favourite man to quote!“It says something for your school that you would name a hall just so,“I simply must explore before it’s time for me to go!”
His guide said, “Jack, I am afraid that you’re mistak-en be,“This hall was not named for your Ernest, I must make you see,“Though, yes by the name ‘Hemingway’ this hall is quite well known,“You have to know it’s ‘Joshua’ who claims the name his own.”
“Joshua!” our Jack exclaimed. “Was he a writer, too?“And was he a relation of the man that we all knew?”“Though Hemingway’s his name, a tie to Ernest? Not a spec,“And yes, he was a writer, for, to us, he wrote a check!”
Cause Monday’s do get knocked a lot,With Poetry, we all besoughtTo try to make the week beginWith pleasant thoughts,Perhaps a grin?So all of us, together, weHave crafted poems for you to see,And now you’ve read what we have wrought,Did we help?Or did we not?JennyCharlotteMimi
Next week, we’re all here anyhow,Let’s talk of Things that Scare Us now.
And now for some funnies!