The Spoonbill Generator

Modish Qualms

I name this dead wasp "Halitosis"

Ask the doctor the true prognosis,

If only to prevent osmosis

His coffin, this old ukulele

Shaped like the body of a lady,

Leads the mourners, dancing gaily

My anorak serves as his shroud

A sop to the fashionable crowd

In their loudness they are too proud

His tombstone, this putrid potato

His mourner a hamster called Plato

His widow alights on a pillow,

This counterpane, now his bouquet

Makes us think it's all okay,

But no, alas, he's gone away!

Leaving us our mournful dirge,

While the organist summons the urge

To spend a little more, to splurge!

Splurging is what I like best

When I return to the nest

Where drones are quite queenly caressed

We'll build another nest,

And die like all the rest

This will be our morbid quest.

Contributors: Roland, Stacy, P, TG, Lucretia, Bop.
Poem finished: 16th February 1997.