|
Now summer is over, we'll try |
[Beefy] |
|
To issue verse clever and wry |
[Francine] |
|
Applying our art |
[Grayman] |
|
From finish to start |
[Francine] |
|
work will it if wonder just I
|
[Anon]
|
|
As nights grow chill, we'll endeavor |
[Francine] |
|
To sharpen the quill (not the feather) |
[Helen Owly] |
|
Some ink will be spilled |
[Francine] |
|
As our opus we build |
[Beefy] |
|
On Parnassus, here, or wherever
|
[Francine]
|
|
Round here, there's not much else to do |
[Beefy] |
|
But try to rhyme whilst on the loo |
[Anon] |
|
The words tend to flow |
[Grayman] |
|
As we strain to go |
[Francine] |
|
But it's not always Byron, it's true
|
[Grayman]
|
|
Ere this limerick ends, let me say |
[Francine] |
|
That your time just got frittered away |
[Helen Owly] |
|
It seems that each minute |
[Grayman] |
|
However you spin it |
[Francine] |
|
Yields nothing, so sieze not the day |
[Helen Owly] |