THIS short poem, found, as it was, inside a harp, is dedicated to one of our own who at this great import deserveth kind roulettes of verse to flavour his good fortune and bid him safe passage in his wonderful pastime in the beringletted wonder of love!

We set sail upon a Friday night,
the moon as pale as rice,
Danced slowly round my finger ends
Like parsley flavoured mice.
A toad looked up my silhouette,
And solemnly proclaimed:
"to have said parsley flavoured mouse
doth boast my fruit, most brave!"

We turned the boat (the sacred Mouse),
behind the comb of dust.
And dolphins foamed and kissed our eyes,
Like a marionette's bon้d lust.
Kind answer token from the side,
looked out onto the roof,
That mild mannered duck beside,
Betrayed my golden hoof.

And thus and thus, we tended well,
and Clive cooked chickens too!
A bolder older onyx shell
Redoubled scon้d tempestuous shoe.
With all and cat shaped calamity,
Shaking the tree like wolves,
We sat upon the deck that night
and marked chestnuts with our gloves.