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Doggerel
A cross-post from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
just_writing and hidden behind a cut so those who read my rubbish in both places don't get the horrors twice.
This will mean something to NWO'ers out there. Or not.
But it's a good example of why I never write poetry (or more precisely, doggerel).
A Clove's Eye View
I remember thinking, what four years back
It's stable times is what we lack.
Of course it's quieter now in the castle,
Much less fuss and far less hassle.
There was times back then, you see
When away from HIM, they'd speak to me,
But none would speak one to another
And that's when it started, all that bother.
These days I polish the courtyard floor
Of them all, it's my oddest chore.
The cobbles once mossy and grimy
These days instead are more glass-like: shiny.
They called the smell an "empyreuma"
Sarsis, see, in rotten humour
Rang in the changes with the décor
When she fried the yard, the hall and ... Grégor.
"Cathartic" is the word they used
And since the day she blew her fuse,
The Drakon's Council has acted better
They know she'd fry 'em if they'd let her.
Well, Lord Gothard, he fetched his hatchet
Although the fire would more than match it,
But then for no clear reason as I could see,
The lot of them start acting sheepishly.
The Drakon, I think at the sight of axe
Had reasserted the Drakon's Pax;
Someone over at the Castle had, it seems
Tampered with them buggers' dreams.
Of course, what went on they never tell me
But I suppose that's as it should be.
But there's no need for them to bellow
When I paint the Great Hall yellow.
And now they're all talking nice again
Most things are better ... in the main.
And so I sweep and clean the floor
Avoiding the spot that was Grégor.
just_writing and hidden behind a cut so those who read my rubbish in both places don't get the horrors twice.This will mean something to NWO'ers out there. Or not.
But it's a good example of why I never write poetry (or more precisely, doggerel).
I remember thinking, what four years back
It's stable times is what we lack.
Of course it's quieter now in the castle,
Much less fuss and far less hassle.
There was times back then, you see
When away from HIM, they'd speak to me,
But none would speak one to another
And that's when it started, all that bother.
These days I polish the courtyard floor
Of them all, it's my oddest chore.
The cobbles once mossy and grimy
These days instead are more glass-like: shiny.
They called the smell an "empyreuma"
Sarsis, see, in rotten humour
Rang in the changes with the décor
When she fried the yard, the hall and ... Grégor.
"Cathartic" is the word they used
And since the day she blew her fuse,
The Drakon's Council has acted better
They know she'd fry 'em if they'd let her.
Well, Lord Gothard, he fetched his hatchet
Although the fire would more than match it,
But then for no clear reason as I could see,
The lot of them start acting sheepishly.
The Drakon, I think at the sight of axe
Had reasserted the Drakon's Pax;
Someone over at the Castle had, it seems
Tampered with them buggers' dreams.
Of course, what went on they never tell me
But I suppose that's as it should be.
But there's no need for them to bellow
When I paint the Great Hall yellow.
And now they're all talking nice again
Most things are better ... in the main.
And so I sweep and clean the floor
Avoiding the spot that was Grégor.
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