Epitaph for the Ninth Night Shift
A snowman, weaned on Castor Oil
Stout guardian of the winter soil
And all the bleeding bones that it inherits
A lighthouse, eating up the sea
Denies transparent remedy
To all who lack the five essential merits
A fishwife, serving up the crust
That lay, discarded in the dust
Well knows the cost of using borrowed time
An oilwell, in its winter plumes
Can shrug off coughs and colds and rheums
And quite transcends its heritage sublime
An orphan, drowsing at the gate
Betrays each broken magistrate
And all the gentle folk who pass him by
A mongrel, barking on a mound
Can sense the movements underground
Despite the clouded opal of his eye
These facts, and many more beside,
Rock unrelenting on the tide
And we can glean them if we have the knack
Yet Weilaway! Our wit being lost
We cannot stand to bear the cost
And like the Trojan, fear th'impending sack
We shiver in our lightless hut
Quite silent, for our throats are cut
And severed is each sinew of our souls
Our feet are numb, our arms hang slack
And in our inner tubes, alack,
We find a nest of unassuming voles
Whose impudence defies reward
Let's throw the vermin overboard!
Despite our feeble limbs
An Abbot, snoozing by the fire
Remembers some forgotten choir
And hums a Sanctus as the candle dims
| Contributors: | Roland, p, P, TG, Angie's. |
| Poem finished: | 19th September 1998. |