Poetry

The world is flat

And that is that!

Said those who would dissuade him.

But his mind was made,

Or mad

So he sailed over the edge,

And by a remarkable twist of fate

He found that he did not fall off

And into space.

Unlike the apple

Who landed on Newton’s head.

Oh, what brevity

Our mariner’s life would have

If the fruit had hit the moon instead.

Puffing and puffing the steam train goes.

Climbing the cold and high mountains.

When it gets back it starts again,

Puffing and puffing black smoke,

Climbing the cold and high mountains,

Stopping and going all day long

At night the train goes in its shed

And it sleeps all night,

Ready to go when it's day again