This Is My Third Thumb
Please release me. Let me go
To the local market-place
Where the silk and money flow
And life achieves a gentler pace
A kind of eighteenth-century grace
Invisible in ev'ry face
Except to those who know
Please desert me. Let me free
From your over-fervent grip
For your clutches bruise me. See?
I swear I won't give you the slip
A kind of nineteenth-century blip
If only you'll put down that whip
What ecstasy 'twill be
Please unlock me. Let me out
Of this house of ill-repute
(Which is crammed with rotting trout)
If you think me passing cute
In my humble birthday-suit
In gratitude I'll lick your boot
And teach you how to pout
Contributors: | F, Apsley, Roland, Beefy, loaf. |
Poem finished: | 21st December 2004 by F. |