Bondage Followed Swiftly By Kickings
One misty, moisty morning, when cloudy was the weather
Two weathermen appeared, dressed head to toe in leather
A joust, it seems, was written on the Mystic Radar Screen
They took it on together, for the sake of God and Queen
Bill Giles climbed on his trusty steed (whose name was Michael Fish)
And cried: "I prophesy a storm!", as bold as you could wish
Corey Quayle, his former foe, astride good Lucy Loch
Predicted, "I'll rain on your parade, my friend, and also 'clean your clock.'"
The steeds, though, weren't quite so sure the storm could be unseated
(Plus both were rather clumsy; you see--they were clubfeeted)
Clutching his barometer, Giles gave a lusty shout
But Michael Fish, that mulish horse, wouldn't budge--the lout
And, Oh!, the thundrous roaring, the lightning-flashing eyes
Mere leather seemed no match for clouds of mail that armoured skies
But when the heart is pure, a lack of armour counts for naught
"We'll charge into this cold front for it needs a lesson taught!"
With knowing glances, Mike and Lucy acquiesced to fate
Their riders spurred them onwards - would they reach the eye too late?
The thunderous claps, the gusty strife, the unforetold pell mell!
That misty, moisty morning when the weather went to Hell
Contributors: | (trad), Padfoot, asdf, Beefy, Kansas Sam, F, Ventnor. |
Poem finished: | 5th December 2003 by Padfoot. |