the_bear

She stood on the bridge at midnight
her lips were all a-quiver
she gave a cough
her leg fell off
and floated down the river

Edited to put in a proper poem, by Mervyn Peake...

Sensitive, Seldom and Sad are we,
As we wend our way to the sneezing sea,
With our hampers full of thistles and fronds,
To plant round the edge of the dab-fish ponds;
Oh, so Sensitive, Seldom and Sad -
Oh, so Seldom and Sad.

In the shambling shades of the shelving shore,
We will sing us a song of the Long Before,
And light a red fire and warm our paws
For it's chilly, it is, on the Desolate Shores,
For those who are Sensitive, Seldom and Sad,
For those who are Seldom and Sad.

Sensitive, Seldom and sad we are,
As we wander along through Lands Afar,
To the sneezing sea, where the sea-weeds be,
And the dab-fish ponds that are waiting for we
Who are, Oh, so Sensitive, Seldom and Sad ,
Oh, SO Seldom and Sad.