Edward Lear went walking, just as the moon shone bright,
And heard an owl sing Marseillaise in the middle of the night,
Oh, Owly, whyfore sing you, this sad and plaintive air?
I’m out in search of pussy, my pure heart I must bare.
And wherefore is this pussy, the aged don did whinge,
Oh, it lurks about most everywhere, behind some ginger minge,
Oh, it is ginger pussy, so actively you seek?
Oh yes, I crave and so I prowl, at least thrice every week.
So Edward Lear trudged homewards and wrote a little song,
Of love and boats and marriage, oh boy, he got it wrong.