Prone To Tautologies
Of sacred cows and catered sows
We all have had our fill
Of feeble hams and beefy lambs
We long for stories still
Of sordid tales and torrid swales
We all feel pretty sick
Of shaggy rugs and raffish thugs
We long to take our pick
Of trifling herds and high-flinging turds
We'll never hear the end
Of barking dogs in darkling bogs
We long to much offend
Of fanciful kinds of quizzical finds
We're sick right up to here
It's time we put our stamp on things
Of all those embedded war journalists indebted
To the warp of one-time diplomatic
Not to mention, hippocratic
Hypochondriacs
oh the unconvincing vigor nauseated she
slept until all became clear
Contributors: | jm, Beefy, Roland, F, Evan, Amy H., loaf, Gail. |
Poem finished: | 9th December 2004 by Roland. |