The Spoonbill Generator

Tennyson's Untreated Butane Vat Goes Whoosh

Come into the garden, John, for the dark bat night has teeth [Apsley]

While raven saddled, night mares ride upon the dewey heath [Englishqueen]

Into England's vanquished landscape, where buttercups don't grow, [Apsley]

look in the hedgerows for Blackbird and Crow [Nigel Sly]

A secret garden, John, where faceless children hide [dan]

From ghosts set on by Eliot, that dream merchant [Apsley]

Of menace [Beefy]

Who did not as much as set foot [Apsley]

For there were no feet to be had [dan]

Which is bad, [fester]

As bad as the clandestine garden is wide [Beefy]

Where the tendrils bristle, and the darl lank toad creeps for safety [Apsley]

Darling quietly as he goes. [fester]

'How I love the Spring! [Apsley]

Especially the pointy bit that pokes through the old mattress!' [fester]

Go unto the breach, dear John, for the wind is singing low [Beefy]

In a voice that shook our palaces four hundred years ago [fester]

Or yesterday [Apsley]

Contributors: Apsley, Englishqueen, Nigel Sly, dan, Beefy, fester.
Poem finished: 19th April 2002.