Bast, offspring of Isis.
Bast of the cat or lion-head.
Bast, director of the sun's rays
it once had been said.
Musicians play, dancers dance,
time for a Bast festivity.
I bask in the very-sunny-smile
of a sure-catlike Siamese lady.
A fairy-knight upon a kelpie rode.
It swam as fast as the river flowed
through the valley 'tween highland hills.
And under an old haggy's spells
her minute minions took up their bows
and fired at the pair poisoned arrows.
But swam the kelpie with such speed
the arrows missed the knight and his steed.
There is magic in thoughts just as fast,
and imaginations that sure do spellcast.
A love-apple is
the very tomato
that needs a hothouse
to grow and grow.
Her cute-body's a hothouse
for a fruity-heart
grown big for a boy
via Cupid's love-dart.
Gone with the wind -
to return with the sun -
like a carpetbagger
who'd left you undone.
Fickle girl, you still want the man.
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
It was one religion
went replaced another.
The materialist regime
of Marxist brothers.
Don't dare laugh, you can't,
to your death you'll go.
The leader is humourless,
he's sure no Groucho !