The Spoonbill Generator

Escapades That Truncate Themselves

As with gladness men of old       [(trad) ]

Shivered in the frost and cold       [Apsley ]

Let us face Midsummer's glare       [Surlaw ]

With a pint and Roland ClareŽ       [Apsley ]

Let us face Midwinter's chill       [Surlaw ]

With a flag and crammed with dill       [Apsley ]

Let us face Eternal Night       [Surlaw ]

With the everlasting light       [Apsley ]

That decants, from dusk to dawn       [Surlaw ]

Whenas each old and dusty pawn       [Apsley ]

Haunts the shadows, quite forlorn       [Surlaw ]

In this manner, sages three,       [Apsley ]

Crouched beneath a sawn-off tree       [Surlaw ]

And did face the solstice glare       [Apsley ]

Armed with very little hair       [Surlaw ]

And scarcely any proper teeth       [Apsley ]

(Not those above nor those beneath)       [Surlaw ]

Let them face unto The East       [Apsley ]

And chant the Number of the Beast       [Surlaw ]

If to end their days they seek       [Apsley ]

By the middle of next week       [Surlaw ]

And to go with but a squeak...       [Apsley ]

Contributors: (trad), Apsley, Surlaw.
Poem finished: 5th February 2007 by olaf.