Witty

Wit

In a bustling market stall,
Where traders shout and children call,
A stall‑holder with a gleam in eye
Offers banter as he sells his pie.

He says, “My crust is flaky, true,
Just like the jokes I bake for you.”
A passer‑by smirks, “And if it’s stale,
We’ll toast it with a witty tale.”

The crowd erupts in gentle laughter,
Each remark a polished feather,
For wit, like tea, is best when shared,
In proper cups, with manners aired.

So let us raise a dainty cup,
To clever quips that lift us up,
And remember, dear Brit, that keen
A word well‑placed is sharpest sheen.