An interesting time here. We are encouraged to expand our Scilly series. Here's a particularly foolish poem from the current collection:
Moonlit Monks, Abbey Garden, Tesco
The day was fading into dusk and soon the Moon arose –
the lilies loosed their night-time musk, quite pleasing to the nose;
the party – mossops, Coo, FT – had settled in their beds
aboard the ship, on Tresco quay, daft dreams within their heads.
But as the hour of midnight loomed, all woke to rhythmic beat
from where the musky lilies bloomed, and it had seven feet;
'What is it, FT?' asked dear Coo, but FT did not know –
the mossops also had no clue, yet head-jived to and fro.
'Well, let us make a stealthy search,' Coo chirped, and all agreed.
'Seek out a subtle sort of perch!' the mossops, keen, decreed;
in little time a perch was found upon a lofty arch
and through the Abbey Garden ground there came a hepta-march.
A company of monks was seen, black habits all rolled high –
yet not so much to be obscene unto the viewing eye;
they skipped along the garden paths, by trees of palms and flames,
alongside ornate birdal baths and plants of Latin names.
'Hi monks!' called Coo. 'Salvete!' one monk stopped to greet and grin;
FT observed, 'You're having fun, with all your cheery kin!'
''Tis true!' the mirthful monk replied. 'Our lives were rather strict;
amusing pastimes were denied by rule of Benedict!
'But now, upon this spirit plane, we're full of jaunty joy:
we hepta-march through Moon and rain and oft shout, "Ship ahoy!"
'Tis fun to shout,' the monk opined, 'especially to a ship!
Yet more than that, now unconfined, we really love to skip!'
With that, the monk rejoined his flock for seven-stepping thrills,
the moonshine on his ancient smock creating comely frills;
and all the party watched and smiled upon the charming sight –
the spirit monks, all super-styled, and skipping through the night.
🌴🌴🌴
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