Tomorrow Hardly Trying
Above the burning snow
His scabbard in his hand
He sliced the gloomy rainbow
Much thinner than he'd planned
The fault, he knew, was Esther's
(His far from winsome wife)
But none of the investors
Was prepared for civil strife
Their shares, once nicely reckoned
Were now worth less than lead
They'd plummet, every second,
Deep into the red
He checked the winkley futtocks
The cuts were neatly spaced
Across the ancient buttocks
And around the narrow waist.
He always missed his pudding,
From former days gone by;
When scouts were out do-gooding
Beneath a crumbling sky
The shards of rainbow tumbled
On Esther's winsome pate
As all the heavens crumbled
Upon his pudding-plate
And as the sky was falling
He yelled one yell of glee:
Hey! Let's all go bowling!
In far Trincomalee!
| Contributors: | P, Mick, Roland, TG, Bop, Fifi Moonsprats, Stacy Alexander, Stacy. |
| Poem finished: | 12th January 1997. |