Jag har för vana att alltid posta nånting på National Poetry Day, men limericken var alldeles för ful, så jag langar bara in den gamla versen, all-together-now…

She was poor, but she was honest,
Pure unstaind was her name,
Till the local squire came courting,
And the poor girl lost her name.

Chorus:
It’s the same the whole world over,
It’s the poor what gets the blame;
It’s the rich what gets the pleasure;
Ain’t it all a bleedin’ shame?

Et cetera, et cetera…