Impressions of the National Arthritic Gallery
My fourteenth friend cannot be seen from here
I never wished her well befoer she went
To rummage in the deep volanic cone
From which all signs of ancient man derive
Back then, the great eruption lay in wait
The villagers kept sheep upon the slopes
They trampled grape-shot with the nether sole
And waited patiently for signs of rain
Without a single glance to left nor right
No wonder hundreds fell in the crevasse
My fourteen friends among them, sad to say.
My second cousin hates the taste of beer
And spurns all folk who quaff it by the quart
While texting all their friends and spilling ash
And lava in the footprints of their kin
He swears their sins will one day find them out
And leave their names in tatters; which, he hopes
Will serve as awful warnings for their heirs
And their assigns, both old and ancient now
Who heretofore have vigorously pursued
Their oaths of tenure on some foreign shore
Where once my second cousin fell from grace
Yet hold, ye philistines!
The art can not be found
To spool up the battle-lines
When once they've been unwound
| Contributors: | P, TG, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 8th November 2002. |