Agriculture Good And Bad
In the land where the brain-fart trees grow
The poop-peppers sprout up in rows
The gardeners there
Stick their noses in air
Whenever the winds starts to blow
In a land where the limericks scan
And rhyme's not a mere also-ran
The rhythm is fair
Don't pluck out your hair
Or drive off in a pink hippie van
One day in the land of Spoonbill
A mountain I made of a molehill
My rhyme was a crime
It was not the first time
And my metre as neat as an oil spill
In a land where the sand meets the sea
Lived a crab and her consort, Sir Flea
They sidled and jumped
They bit and they humped
And then took a break to have tea
In a land where the poet is king
And our noble ideas take wing
Where metaphors reign
We'll all go insane
Oh death, tell me where is your sting
Contributors: | quasi, Dassn't Say, Kansas Sam, N, Roland, Anon., F, snood, TG. |
Poem finished: | 29th September 2003. |