This is the sanitarium of sick jokes,

Ancient wheezes, japes and tricks,

All marked and labelled in categorie

That Range from one to ninety six.

Some of them have raised the roof

In many an ancient music hall,

Some caused titters in venues

A little more humble and small.

Some of them are convoluted 

Needing skill in their telling,

Needing so much concentration

To make the point they are selling.

Most of them are joyful

But a little few are sad

And, filed in side wards, those

That, quite frankly, are bad.

The place echoes to ancient laughter,

An awe inspiring, flowing sound

That permeates the corridors

As the inhabitants move around.

Fashions in humour changes

Reflecting changing living styles

So some of them are revived to

enjoy new popularity for a  while,

But, sadly, inevitably,comes that time

When new found popularity ends

And, each is  returned to be 

Re filed   with their old friends.

Many enjoyed the days long before

These of instant communication

When, for years and years, they could

Be toured round and around the nation;

Then along came television

And all at once they were seen

Across sometimes the world

On that haunted fish tank screen.

Now they live in retirement

Remembering days of old

When roofs were raised with laughter

Each and every time they were told.

Some may think this to be 

A ghostly, sad, eerie place

But very few visitors ever leave

Without a smile on their face.

This is the sanitarium of sick jokes

Quips, comments, stories rude and witty,

Where  all bathe in  warmth of past fame,

And very few feel the need of any pity,

For Humour runs in cycles

And they never know when

They may be revived to enjoy

Fame and fortune once again.