The Spoonbill Generator

23 Babies In Maritime Tryst

Two doggerels, whelped in one litter

Averse to each other from birth

No doubt on account of their girth

Two babies, equipped with one sitter

Supplied with one rattle apiece

No doubt by an indigent niece

Five wetnurses, truculent, bitter

Bemoaning their lot with one voice

And finding no cause to rejoice

Nine critics, but only one critter

Immune to each fatal disease

That poisons a pelican's knees

Twelve bishops all covered in glitter

And wedged in a single canoe

By those who should know who is who

Seventeen kinds of wallpaper

Embellished with gryphon and grouse

Have caused the demise of my House

A score of incompetent umpires

Too blind to know which way to run

Have nonetheles routed the Hun

Yet twenty-three syllabled discourse

All Greek to poor Cicero's aunt

Delights the unwary house-plant

But two-and-a-half is the answer

Whatever the question might be

Oh, how can we make the world see?

Nothing at all can avail us

No god can avert our disgrace

We've lost the human race!

Contributors: Roland, TG, P, Bop.
Poem finished: 10th April 1997.