Any child can puke Beethoven's last minuet
The trouser-press is waiting for
My mother's sister, who's my aunt,
To gently knock upon the door
And deal the death-blow to that plant.
That evil spider-plant which had
World dominion in its sights
But, though it was extremely bad,
It never would shoot out the lights.
Can Apsley's aunt destroy this pest?
That mother to the Roman twins,
Who have but lately quit the nest
And say for her they'd give two pins.
Or will the trouser-press's wait
In vain be for that woman dear?
It hopes that she will not be late
It plans to emigrate next year.
Its dream--retirement in the sun
With vodka, and a pile of grapes
No trousers any more--just fun
Among the coelocanths and apes
Yes, deep sea diving with a chimp
While apt to make one's trousers limp
Beats pressing trousers any day
And leads to quite a sun-bright ray
But, finally, there comes a knock
A chilling sound, portending woe
For those who like to swig the Hock:
And dress in green from head to toe
The spider-plant awaits its doom
It knows its schemes have come to naught
When Apsley's aunt enters the room
and rips away all it's been taught
"Please do not hurt me, auntie dear,
Though you won't let me rule the world
At least don't make me live in fear
Of... No! You're holding secateurs!"
the darkness, twas quite choking
In vegetable Hell
The fires were stoked and smoking
And there was a nasty smell
Contributors: | fester, Apsley, dkb, Beefy, TG, Melody, Glyn, Lucas, melody. |
Poem finished: | 22nd February 2002. |