Never mind.

Listen kids, to the story of Paul Revere:
One if by land and two if by sea;
As he rode up to Lexington town you could hear:
The British are coming! The rest's history.

Deadline minus six hours and she still can't stop.

I died and met a kindred soul,
like me, profound and arty.
We chatted from adjoining tombs:
a ghostly slumber party.

I think I've got a problem.


My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Her hairs are wires, her voice a raven's call;
Heavy tread, bad breath and breasts of dun,
And yet I'm nuts about her, warts and all.

I think I might miss this one. Perhaps it should be included in some kind of a future bakeoff.

There's a breathless hush in the Close tonight;
The Gatling's jammed, and the Colonel's dead.
"We'll need to come up with some other cheat;
What about Bodyline Bowling?" he said.

Marion,

"Deadline minus six hours"? I thought the closing date was May 14th?

Brian,

No. 2747: shorts
You are invited to encapsulate a well-known poem in four lines (maximum three entries each and please specify). Please email entries, wherever possible, to lucy@spectator.co.uk by midday on 9 May.

And look at the name of the thread.

If you blew the deadline, I'd say just hurry up and send it in now even though you might be late by a couple of hours. I doubt she's that strict. In fact, I seem to recall that I once missed the deadline by a few hours and got an honorable mention, so she clearly didn't just discard my entry.

Ooops! Sorry, Marion, I thought I was still looking at Tailgaters. My eyes must have swivelled in my head.

Yeah, Roger, but you might have won if it had been on time.