Witness My Self-important Bitumen
When syrup happens to congeal
You cannot force the stuff to spill,
And yet you try and try, until
Your deep dejection starts to heal
When one into a void will stare
Imagining a world beyond
And yet you try and try, to heal
A duck that drifts across the pond
When searching for a dull vignette
And having failed to find one yet,
One fumbles for the old spinnet
And spins a melody right in it.
It might not lure that duck ashore
and may decrease your whole duck score,
Yet not a whit of this, we feel,
Due to our daily HAPPY pill.
Like custard made into a hat
(I like a soft one such as that)
When wearing it, you feel a bit
Unlike one wearing a hat that fits.
| Contributors: | Jane, Stacy, TG, Roland, The Agent Apsley, Willy the Pimp, The Agent Aspley. |
| Poem finished: | 31st March 1998. |