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Category: Funny Narrative Poems
       Classic humorous and funny story poems. Narrative poems are written accounts of connected events in poetry format.


Upon an island, all alone,
    They lived, in the Pacific;
Somewhere within the Torrid Zone,
    Where heat is quite terrific.
'Twould shock you were I to declare
The many things they did not wear,
            Altho' no doubt
            One's best without
    Such things in heat terrific.

Though cannibals by birth were they,
    Yet, since they'd first existed,
Their simple menu day by day
    Of such-like things consisted:
Omelets of turtle's eggs, and yams,
And stews from freshly-gathered clams,
            Such things as these
            Were,--if you please,--
    Of what their fare consisted.

But after dinner they'd converse,
    Nor did their topic vary;
Wild tales of gore they would rehearse,
    And talk of missionary.
They'd gaze upon each other's joints,
And indicate the tender points.
            Said one: "For us
            'Tis dangerous
    To think of missionary."

Well, on a day, upon the shore,
    As flotsam, or as jetsam,
Some wooden cases,--ten, or more,--
    Were cast up. "Let us get some,
And see, my friend, what they contain;
The chance may not occur again,"
            Said good Who-zoo.
            Said Tum-tum, "Do;
    We'll both wade out and get some."

The cases held,--what do you think?--
    "|Prime Missionary--tinned.|"
Nay! gentle reader, do not shrink--
    The man who made it sinned:
He thus had labelled bloater-paste
To captivate the native taste.
            He hoped, of course,
            This fraud to force
    On them. In this he sinned.

Our simple friends knew naught of sin;
    They thought that this confection
Was missionary in a tin
    According to direction.
For very joy they shed salt tears.
"'Tis what we've waited for, for years,"
            Said they. "Hooray!
            We'll feast to-day
    According to direction."

"'Tis very tough," said one, for he
    The tin and all had eaten.
"Too salt," the other said, "for me;
    The flavour might be beaten."
It was enough. Soon each one swore
He'd missionary eat no more:
            Their tastes were cured,
            They felt assured
    This flavour might be beaten.

And, should a missionary call
    To-day, he'd find them gentle,
With no perverted tastes at all,
    And manners ornamental;
He'd be received, I'm bound to say,
In courteous and proper way;
            Nor need he fear
            To taste their cheer
    However ornamental.

                     G. E. Farrow.

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