Original Palindromes Oldest

Tire, drum, murder it.

Tired, no plan, I fret semester Final, ponder it.

Tired—no pot to ponder “it.”

Tired nude, draw a star as a rat’s awarded under it.

Tired, nude, I, Ruby, do basic tests etc. … is a body buried under it?

Tired, nude, we lit a love volatile—wed under it!

Tired nude Tatum stars as rats mutated under it.

“Tired nudes I met in a diadem, and a cadet, are both sure we rush to be rated,” a cad named Aidan itemised under it.

Tired nudes, pale, relapsed under it.

Tired nugget I bit, egg under it.

Tired nut on pop, not under it.

‘Tis a heme meme has it!

‘Tis a heron; or it is a hydrolytic city … Lordy, has it iron ore, has it?

“‘Tis arena fan era: Sit!”

“Tis as if is a sit.

‘Tis burlap: a pal rubs it.

‘Tis but an Irish sin if I finish, Sir, in a tub-sit.

‘Tis I, daft Sal’s last fad, is it?

‘Tis I, is it?

“Tis I submittin’ it, Tim—bus I sit.”

‘Tis I, Vera Ray—a potted ace cadet, to pay a rare visit.

“‘Tis in a can, I’m a damp rub,” I burp, “Madam, in a can I sit!”

‘Tis in a can I dump mud; in a can I sit.

‘Tis in a can, I’m Adam; in a can I sit.

“‘Tis in a can,” I puff, “It’s a hole—Tom’s Motel—oh, a stiff, up in a can, is it?”

‘Tis in a canoe I lie, on a can I sit.

‘Tis in a cast (if, Tim, it fits), a can I sit.

‘Tis in a DeSoto sedan I sit.

‘Tis in arid Iran I sit.

Tis iron, or is it?