Trout

An Epic Poem

Kate & Mike

Part 2



Kate:   And with a match the size of the Colo-
sseum we did hear the weasel holler,
as his fur became charcoal we smelt a smell of ...
... horror.

The weasel squealed, its fur ignited
red, like the strip of Man. United.
Flesh peeled off his awful form,
and fell like burned toast to the floor.
Oh, no more will that dreadful weasel
cause us no more uneasel.
The weasel is dead, on fire he did catch,
all for the sake of a match.

Mike:   Oh suit so free
garment fair
billowing smoke
that fills the air
denied of style
devoid of beauty
bereft of sleeves.
Luscious fruity
fairy footsteps stomp to where
Ignatius, in his flannel court dribbles,
sang praises to the queen
so serene
in green ... for she,
the queen of wood nymphs afar
could perform amazing feats with a Mars bar.
Oh, Ignatius, courtier true
describe for us the consistency of the nougat,
do.

Kate:   Arising from the burning ashes
the weasel's charred, fluorescent flashes
appeared to the nymphs at the pagan fest
delighted in causing the queen distress
and took on the form of the courtier Ignatius
prompting the queen to cry out "Good Gracious!"
The king, in the woods, with a nymph called Tess,
came as soon as he heard of his wife's distress
(and, foolishly un-noticing his state of near-undress ... )

 
Trout
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