Monday 4 March 2013

An Ode-on the fey extrication of Good Queen Elizabeth from hospital

Twas March the Fourth. good Lord so soon
When loyal subjects keened, nay swooned
To hear foul storms atop the news
That Dear Queen Bet was rent of stool

Tis Eight O morn, it headeth herald
The bugle blasted swards and heath
A nation checked would she were welleth
Stool be made , or bounden free.

Oh did it splatter twixt the throne
Did courtly Bentley green we`re told
Did Ma`am raise good, go on her own
Or footstool laid for her below?

Oh prithee tell me good sir Humph
Dear Justin,bring us forth your news
A nation checks its bowls and bowels
Thus rarely queenly squits break through

Unto Today where Witchell Nick
Enquireth Bristol valid true
Firm yet yielding section crossed
Of royal issue, stooling groom

And now hushed tones, in reverent fear
That plastic sheets may`nt cope with t`gush
Yet, Bless our Monarch, wave forsooth
Or be that waft, Royal toadies hushed
Oh dear Beloved Queen of hearts and minds
Now add the bottoms to her bynde!

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