Two Grebes Adrift
You shall not fail to summon me
Nor I to run away, pardee!
All lessons have been tossed aside
Except the one to give more side
To those who lack convincing shape
And imitate that bird the snape
While running round the garden pond
And catching echoes from beyond
The quartets of our youth
The quartets of our youth shall ring
And summon me to prayer
And though I hear the choir sing
I'll shake my derrierre
With hope of wresting colonnades
From champions and kings
Then mince them up for marmalades
And other pointless things
That sumon up all truth
That summon up all truthiness
And lock it in the shed
Among the punctured ironing-boards
That made dear Ruthie bless
The tee-shirt printer and his stooge
And what the butler read
(or red – since he was daubed with rouge
From sundry diving-boards)
Was nothing like 'Vermouth'
Contributors: | loaf, Apsley, Chevalier, Kevin Andrew Murphy, Helen Owly. |
Poem finished: | 25th June 2006 by Apsley. |