The Spoonbill Generator

Arise, False Dawns!

Goliath in the cutlery-drawer [Roland]

Utters a tremendous roar [TG]

Shaking every knife and fork [Roland]

And rattling every spoon [TG]

We who quake in mortal dread [Roland]

Of seeing his dishevelled head [TG]

Can scarce distinguish cheese from chalk [Roland]

And still less hold a tune [TG]

Thus, the nails and hammer ready [Roland]

Breath withheld and sinews steady [TG]

Thus, the reflex tuned to breaking [Roland]

And ever-darting eyes [TG]

First nail stops the runners sliding [Roland]

(Can we keep ourselves in hiding?) [TG]

Second sets his forebrain aching [Roland]

We're closer to the prize [TG]

Third nail ... dare we bash it home [Roland]

Will it help to lend a comb? [TG]

Should we lance the giant's brain [Roland]

In hope of sweet release? [TG]

Goliath in his final throes [Roland]

Roars defiance at his foes [TG]

Should he suffer endless pain? [Roland]

No - grant him his surcease [TG]

Contributors: Roland, TG.
Poem finished: 24th November 2003 by Anon..