Eight Parrots, Seven Rogues
Hengist had the brightest sword
If not the sharpest mind
And, in his fashion, served his lord
As goggles serve the blind
Who desire to gnaw a bone
Albeit veiled in flesh
And take it to the telephone
He dressed in naught but mesh.
Hengist liked a jape or two
Spaced over the decades
And, when he felt it apt to woo,
He'd call his shovels spades
And kept on digging; such a hole
Is naught to one so high
But, viewed by abject worm or mole
Say, seems the very sky
Hengist wooed a maiden fair
In hope of gaining wealth
But lo! She had a mermaid's hair
And in the worst of health
She struggled all alone
To satisfy his lust
Yet when she touched his bone
He thrust it at her bust
Hengist quivered, head to toe
Enveloped in a gel,
And, in a voice surpassing low,
He muttered down to Hell:
"Is aught from naught aught - or naught?"
Hell rumbled back in turn:
"Yes and no - as New Math taught!"
And caused his ears to burn
Hengist fell into the Pit
Observing, as he fell
That if this verse he now could quit
Then all might turn out well
So Satan skewered him on a spit
And turned him over coals
And basted him with aquavit
As given once to moles
Hengist burned five milliard years
As frizzled as a fritter
And, waiting for a mourner's tears,
He gave birth to a litter
This miracle touched Hengist's soul
And other organs too
It purged his sins and made him whole
As much as me or you
Hengist rose again at last
In wholly different form
Forgiven for his sinful past
And calmer since the storm
Transfigured into marzipan
With cormorant coiffure
Which tells us this: the vilest man
As candy shall endure
Contributors: | Apsley, loaf, Kevin Andrew Murphy, F, Chevalier, a priori, Kansas Sam, Helen Owly, Hillbeck. |
Poem finished: | 3rd August 2006 by loaf. |