Keats Knew His Mind
Oh, what can ail thee, Knave of Hearts,
Save thy lack of private parts
Which once were tall, and strong and proud
And now lie buried in a shroud
Your wife has left to be a nun
So too, alas, your eldest son
Your friends all snigger when they see
Your shabby mediocrity
Oh, what can ail thee, Queen of Spoons,
Save too many mouldy prunes
That once were sphery, bronzed and plump
And now do make your stomach jump
Your husband lies beneath the stairs
Dressed in your daughter's underwear
And when your rivals view your plight
The sick of Rheims all start a fight
Oh, what can ail thee, King of Kings
Save thy lack of girly things
That dangled once about your neck
But which you lost in a shipwreck
Your subjects flit among the stars
All seeking work in go-go bars
Where maid might find but pleasures few
Like sex, drugs, rock and roll and booze
Contributors: | fester, P, Rob, Beefy, Apsley, Roland. |
Poem finished: | 1st November 2000. |