A Snail Keeps Shop
A Case of Riotous Block
Is worse than a fleet foot
When Mother Tongue's a widow
A base of chicken stock,
Accursed with a beetroot
Is what both we and Sid know
A Face of pallor'd Chalk
Bland as a night-light
Shall be the back of darkness
A trace of hallowed pork
Will stand as a kite might
Defending wisdom's fastness
But fire, let's not forget, is the Great Commander!
Curish mother's milk and corriander,
Dynamite in tow.
Might Dinah know the answer?
Where's the point? We ought to ask a dancer
Balanced on a toe
The Keep of Dolorous Gard
or thwart the gudgeon's love of the Bard
Smitten by a rancid jib
Clean-shaven like the pard
A knotty-pated lout tries hard,
To overcome the block
Rejoice in shadow'd smirk
And all sequestered guile
To manifest the sock
Out-paramour the Turk
With cunning winning smile
More faceless than a clock
A timeless parlour trick
Performed without a mule
To very great applause
A worthless shooting-stick
(except when used for fuel)
(or spearing apple-cores)
Improper social mores.
Manners maketh man (they say)
How I wish they'd go away
| Contributors: | Roland, Bop, Stacy, TG, jp, KD, P, Shakespeare. |
| Poem finished: | 18th May 1997. |