Whether Lewinsky Swore (Wittgenstein's Homily)
The unblessed stranger twisted forth,
His eyes corrupt as clay
With soul more cold than Arctic North
With feet as blue as day:
He reached for me with gnarled hands,
His face was clean and shaven
And on his head there were some sands
Whilst, on his back, a raven
Yelling, in Triumphant Zeal
His claymore waving high
, He gave to me a piece of veal
Unknown to any pie
He hadn't any Messing Time,
Whatever that might be,
And following his pressing crime
He climbed a flaming tree.
His gherkin flourished in the wind
And rose to the occasion
Unlike the famous tamarind
Which Scotsmen fail to mention.
His battle-scarf blew in the breeze
His snarl met gods on high,
He brought the masses to their knees
And wrung their withers dry
| Contributors: | Stacy, Roland, Josh, The Agent Apsley, KW, GED, TG, KD, Capt. B. Fart. |
| Poem finished: | 8th March 1998. |