It's Entirely God's Business
Eleven, six or eight
The number of our fate
Magenta, black and blue
The bruise I got from you
I celebrate!
Upsilon, lambda, pi
The apple of mine eye
Vermilion, cream and lime
The way we waste our time
And, wasting, die
Across, in front, behind
As if by God desgned
Unspeaking, mute and dumb
By torpor overcome
And also blind
Angina, mumps, TB
The ills you caught from me
Uranus, Mars, the Moon
The harbingers of doom
That yet we long to see
Alsatian, collie, pug
Emblazoned on this mug
Leaf-mold, fungus, slime
Impenetrable mime
For any slug
Maltravers, Thurston, Wade
Inventors of the spade
Emulsion, gloss or matt
Will suit my festive hat
My lemonade
Obtuse, reflex, acute
The angles of my suit
Descartes, Heidegge, Locke
Their heads are on the block
Thus I refute!
Contributors: | Roland, p, P, TG, Anon.. |
Poem finished: | 16th December 1997. |