Surely it behoves us to grant...
In Istanbul
A mile of wool
Is always full
Of faults
To pull
Abdul
Has many bolts of wool
In Cairo dim
An extra limb
Grows full of vim
To waltz
With him
No gym
Withstands that extra limb
Through Kyzyl's halls
Roll silver balls
Against the walls
It galls
What sprawls
And installs
Paul's software in the malls
Valhalla's doors
Are soiled with spores
Which underscores
The schmaltz
That's stored
In cores
By four bored troubadours
Near Beachy Head
I fell quite dead
And having bled
Chopped off my head
Contributors: | fester, Roland, Anon., Apsley, Grayman, Yoxi, Loaf, Hamish, dkb, . |
Poem finished: | 11th May 2000. |