Three-thousand Tall Blonde Pastries
A box of lead, filled up with stones,
Buried deep, beneath the sea
That spans the Equinoctial Zones
Where Harry Potter went to sea,
Where Armand Hammer went to sea
This box, I say, was made of lead:
Of lead, the metal: lead it was
That drew me to the sleeping Ned,
Not zinc or silicon, because
He would not ever say 'because'
The stones that filled this leaden box
Were stones of substance most obscure
Towit, the stuff of boulders, rocks,
Than which none better you'll procure -
Unless you know some source obscure
A glow the stones do strange emit
Or broadcast; such a dismal glow
As the word 'glow' does not befit,
Since stones cannot emit a glow
Unless it be a feeble glow
| Contributors: | Apsley, P, Surlaw, emptily. |
| Poem finished: | 8th January 2002. |