Next to Crowley in a pyramid-hat,
the poet Yeats closely sat
and gave a tired yawn
in the Temple of the Golden Dawn,
"Time to leave us Mr Beast."
It was upon hearing that
666 left. Find he went East.
Ah Bottom, he of the mechanic-class,
was to amuse the Bard's fairy-queen.
Is not a bottom also an ass?
And as an ass was he not seen?
Every royal-court had its clown-fool,
ewven in a midsummer's-dream.
The mechanic was, too, his tool,
titillating Titania it would seem !
The Walking Street Blues Factory blues
after a night out on the booze?
And after a flippery diving in
(pertaining to your pink-dolphin)
with somebody soft-and-feminine
further setting your head aswim?
Then this verse-poem may not amuse !
and Tom Thumb.
Tom tit, Tom cat
and tom-tom drum.
has just come.
Her breasts are Blue Remembered Hills.
Brimstone and Treacle leave a trail.
Bedevilled by the girl's Black Eyes
Singing Detectives are on her tail.
Mysterious as the Gaelic chapel,
this is what she thought he meant.
A priceless treasure it was,
the missive the girl was sent.
If only she knew in Old English
rose-lin's the spelling of horse-serpent !
Pelican-crossings, zebra-crossings too;
you'd think that England was an open-zoo.
Especially when we're huddled-up together
in the brrrr... brass-monkey-weather !