Squirrel-bitten, the Similes Decay
My love is like a rushing stream, of vigour full and free,
My love is one hell of a mother come and see
For I am quite besotten with the words my pen will write
Those hideous betrayers of my loathsome appetite
As the Geordies say "ad away and shite"
Nigel Sly resembles but a raging bull, that stoves and stokes and shoves,
And then disappears without trace (or gloves).
His pavan, like a mountain stream, was played all night on Radio 3 -
By an epileptic bee
The bee, called Brenda, plucked on the strings of Vengerov's old fiddle
Except for the bits at the end and the middle
My goat is like a heap of dung, with maggots and some lice:
you will not see the like of it, no not at any price
(Unless you go right up to it - and stuff its mouth with rice!)
| Contributors: | Apsley, Nigel Sly, loaf, Anon., fester, Shiv Mathur. |
| Poem finished: | 28th June 2002. |