A first draft from another of the insomniac early-bird flock. It's an ancient joke guarranteed to produce a snigger from all the thousands of school-children who read the Speccie --
I'm stuck here weaving at my loom.
My curse confines me to this room.
And yet I yearn for Lancelot
Who lives downstream in Camelot.
I long to watch him "Tirra-lirra"
In my arms and not a mirror.
Should I go to him or not?
Your advice would help a lot.
Abandon both your web and loom.
No curse should keep you in your room.
So, whether it should strike or not,
Just take the boat to Camelot.
Do not waste another day.
Seize Love's pleasures while you may.
No maiden ever suffered worse
Than stomach pains from any curse.
Last edited by Martin Parker; 01-21-2011 at 02:56 AM.
Reason: What passed, at the time, for inspiration!
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