She boils
In its own bottle
A dead axolotl
Recalls its most shining defeats
Like when Aristotle
Had scythed off its wattle
Whilst reciting a poem by Keats
Far from the kettle
There, under the settle
Something has crawled in from the streets
I'll pull off one petal
To see if it's metal
And then hang it up by the teats
This is not subtle
For those who don't buttle
And are not great fans of cold meats
Or even a Ruttle
Inside a coal-scuttle
Who;s deluged by thousands of treats
Contributors: | Roland, fester, Beefy, Apsley, P. |
Poem finished: | 13th December 2001. |