Mr Leather Roasted Little Squid
What dire offence from am'rous causes springs
'Tis best to think of all your fav'rite things:
The sound of silk-clad thighs as legs are crossed
Though the offence may then be what is lost.
For what we lose, we gain betimes elsewhere,
Fair things may well turn foul, and foul things fair:
Though Birnam Wood be come to Dunsinane
And madmen oftentimes are counted sane
So drink, my kinsmen, to the God of Love!
As, doubtless, he to us in realms above ...
Upon the ground, a squashed flat dove
From me will get a hefty kind of shove!
Contributors: | (trad), fester, Beefy, Apsley, P, Roland, melody. |
Poem finished: | 13th May 2002. |