The Spoonbill Generator

Ages Rush By, Unremarked By Anyone

What shall we do today, my dear, where would you like to go?       [Beefy]

It's June the Twelfth - eleven years! We've reached a new plateau!       [Sam's Corporeal]

Yet some might claim       [Roland]

If they've a mind       [Beefy]

To take the blame       [P]

The seal unsigned       [Roland]

That rather than fly by, I fear, the time has gone quite slow       [Grayman]

Who would have thought today, my dear, we'd still be man and wife       [Beefy]

Let's reckon up: eleven spawn? We've led a fecund life       [Roland]

Yet some might say       [Beefy]

So many young       [P]

Have hell to pay       [Roland]

And should be hung       [Padfoot]

Perhaps we should slit their throats this year, or banish them to Fife       [P]

What shall become of us, my dear, if fire engulfs our shack       [Roland]

We'll emigrate - eleven miles - without once looking back       [Beefy]

Yet some might shout       [Padfoot]

From distant towers       [Roland]

"Get out, get out       [P]

Your ways aren't ours!"       [Roland]

Why, then, we'll spit into their beer to fend off an attack       [Beefy]


Contributors: .
Poem finished: 17th June 2004 by Roland.