The Spoonbill Generator

Our Welsh Brethren Confess

Rushing from the Laundromat®       [Apsley]

Into an currant-bun       [Apsley]

And bring that to its knees       [Roland]

And yet he did forswear to laugh       [Apsley]

At Socrates his jokes       [Roland]

But, pointing to the watching throng,       [Beefy]

He played his final hoax:       [Roland]

Dividing all his gold in half       [Beefy]

He burst into this song:       [Apsley]

"The ear, it cannot choose but hear,       [(trad)]

Yet listen not to murd'ring fear       [Apsley]

Ye nymphs of radiant eye       [Roland]

But where the laughing dolphins play       [Beefy]

Their bombardons, we scarcely may       [Roland]

Ascend the glist'ning sky!"       [Beefy]

With that, he closed his final eyes       [Roland]

And waved his final hand       [Beefy]

The proffered cup of gilded lies       [dok]

Had never looked so grand       [Roland]

And, in the forms, a form he spied       [Apsley]

And very little else beside       [Roland]

Moral:       [Apsley]

My thorax. though infirm       [Roland]

My thorax. though infirm       [Roland]

And somewhat prone to wheeze       [Beefy]

Has banished every germ       [Roland]

And perfumed every sneeze       [Apsley]

Contributors: Apsley, Roland, Beefy, (trad), dok.
Poem finished: 26th April 2005 by Roland.