Flood-plain Eembargoes
Once upon a greyhound dreary,
Rode the Bailiff, Ken O'Leary
From the wilds of Donegal,
Short was he, and wide withal
As through the forests thick he charged.
Often in his private musings
He thought of winning all his losings,
Drawing gains from every loss -
He'd never once forget to floss
In case his root canal enlarged
Now, aboard the barge-casino
With a cut-out of Pacino,
Counting cards and drinking rye
In the light of someone's eye,
He saw Le Touquet Paris Plage
As they burnt in flames all shiny
The roasting hedgehogs got less spiny
And tasted more and more of pork
(The kind they make ham with in York)
As their spiny guts they soon discharged
Contributors: | englishqueen, loaf, Apsley, Beefy, Roland, dkb, ellie, fester. |
Poem finished: | 9th May 2002. |