The Spoonbill Generator

Three-thousand Tall Blonde Pastries

A box of lead, filled up with stones, [Apsley]

Buried deep, beneath the sea [P]

That spans the Equinoctial Zones [Surlaw]

Where Harry Potter went to sea, [Apsley]

Where Armand Hammer went to sea [Surlaw]

This box, I say, was made of lead: [Apsley]

Of lead, the metal: lead it was [emptily]

That drew me to the sleeping Ned, [Apsley]

Not zinc or silicon, because [Surlaw]

He would not ever say 'because' [Apsley]

The stones that filled this leaden box [Surlaw]

Were stones of substance most obscure [Apsley]

Towit, the stuff of boulders, rocks, [Surlaw]

Than which none better you'll procure - [Apsley]

Unless you know some source obscure [Surlaw]

A glow the stones do strange emit [Apsley]

Or broadcast; such a dismal glow [Surlaw]

As the word 'glow' does not befit, [Apsley]

Since stones cannot emit a glow [Surlaw]

Unless it be a feeble glow [Apsley]

Contributors: Apsley, P, Surlaw, emptily.
Poem finished: 8th January 2002.