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In the midst of Trollope and Birdsong Our hostess popped out for some lettuce After nine o’clock this struck us
As right queer to say the least.
Was it the Trollope that had led her To vacate in such a rush
Or Birdsong – garden – lettuce A train of thought perhaps.
Our suspicions began to mount As books were hardly a cause For lopping away at a Lollo
Or inching an iceberg out.
Closing the proceedings in haste And gathering all of our thingies With caution we snuck in the garden Alack flat out in the veggies
As hard as a neglected beet Purple from head to feet
With a lettuce limp in her hair Bit Ophelia like we said.
Returning to Birdsong and Trollope We said they were hard to compare Our hearts however weren’t in it With our leader composting out there.
We convened an emergency meeting A theme for the very next meet
In honour of Beaty our hostess
The Lettuce and Lit (and une sweet roma(i)n) beat. Agreed. Beat.
December 4, 2014