There was an old man of Buktu,
Who made him a rooftop canoe;
He paddled the town,
Far above ground,
That inventive old man of Buktu.
There was an old lady of Zurich,
Who refused to be seen out in public;
She went everywhere,
With sheets held in the air,
That hidden old lady of Zurich.
There was a young lad of July,
Convinced he was a firefly;
His wings wouldn’t go,
But he mastered the glow,
That brightest firefly of July.