My parents used to send my sister and I to visit my Aunt Gayle and Uncle Bob in Washington D.C. during the summers growing up. The poem below is courtesy of my crazy Uncle Bob and a long car ride one night:
I come before you to stand behind you
to tell you something I know nothing about.
On next Thursday, which is Good Friday,
There is a Mother’s meeting for men only.
Admission is free, pay at the door.
Pull up a chair and sit on the floor.
There will be dancing for the crippled,
music for the deaf, and
movies for the blind.
In one of the movies a blind man saw,
One day in the middle of the night,
two dead boys got up to fight.
Back to back, they faced each other,
pulled out their guns and shot each other.
If you do not believe this lie is true,
ask the blind man who saw it too.