The Spoonbill Generator

Fashionable, The Unseemly Lexicographer

There is, I've heard, an organist, who plays at half past three [TG]

Regardless of the hour when the service ought to be [Roland]

He little cares for sermons, or the congregation's drone [TG]

And much prefers to practise when he thinks he's all alone [Roland]

But, snug within her hiding-place beneath the second pew, [TG]

A damsel with a dulcimer prepares to make her coup [Roland]

She's heard all his recitals, hidden safe within her lair [TG]

And sets a trap to catch him when she thinks there's no-one there [Roland]

But, watching from the shadows on the far side of the nave, [TG]

An armour-clad impostor lies immobile on a grave [Roland]

He little cares for music, but he's mad about the maid [TG]

And thinks that he's the only skulker leering from the shade [Roland]

But, unbeknownst to all the watchers hiding out of sight, [TG]

The apse is crammed with agents, waiting silent 'til the night [Roland]

They've heard that on each Sunday night a dreadful deal is done [TG]

By those who think the company is limited to one [Roland]

But, watching with all-seeing eyes from organ-loft above, [TG]

A wolf in sheepish clothing, a raven in a dove [Roland]

The agent of Beelzebub stares down upon the throng [TG]

Who think themselves the arbiters where right contends with wrong [Roland]

But, as is clear to anyone who's read the Holy Writ, [TG]

The eagle may consult the mole, the heavens woo the pit [Roland]

And vigilance eternal is the price for staying pure [TG]

For those who watch on those who wait on those who think they're sure ... [Roland]

Contributors: TG, Roland.
Poem finished: 7th January 2001.