Earthenware Thinkers
Behold her single in the field
A sausage yellow she did wield
for helmet, an erlenmeyer flask,
On her face, a Disraeli mask.
O maiden fair! that you should fight
With valor great this winter night!
To rib her cerecloth in the obscure grave,
Would be a passion that I could save.
As evening draws a parting breathe
Like the thief at point of death
We cannot spell, we cannot spell
Our fighter's speech is shot to hell.
So let us take our timely leave,
From Chaucer's knight, if not his reeve,
And heed us now our lessons learned,
Which, in this wise, will soon be burned.
| Contributors: | (trad), Carl Marks, kidlacan, Stacy Alexander, Apsley, jamesy. |
| Poem finished: | 18th November 2002. |