Yellow Paris Hags
St Vitus, in his winter robe
Is hard to see against the snow
Notwithstanding mistletoe
He slithers round the globe
St Alban, in a potent dream
Forgot the recipe for gold
By understanding moss, and mould
He implements this scheme:
St. Thomas, woke from troubled sleep
by cries of fishwives nestling near
which echoed in each haddock's ear
will doubtless start to weep
& St Chrysostom, in his bath
found a way to vent his wrath
On bowls replete with barb'rous broth
he laughs a soupy laugh
And lastly, St McGregor
Lascivious old beggar.
| Contributors: | Roland, Boppo, TG, P, Kevin, Stacy, PWRC etc, stacy. |
| Poem finished: | 8th December 1996. |