He'd called his hostess honourable pig,
then said she was as charming as a bat,
and that he’d dined on fricassee of cat
before he’d come, but that he'd have some wig
before he gave his talk (or “did his jig”),
in which he praised the weirdness of the hat
between his Majesty and Premier Rat.
Translation-challenged clown, not worth a fig,
or so she'd thought. She’d learn that was a lie
when coming on her safe, her face turned red.
She found it empty. As she gave a sob,
the woman swore her visitor would die.
She burst in, found his name-card on his bed.
It told his purpose eloquently: “Rob”.
Frank
__________________
-- Frank
|