|Master John Inchingham|
Cows of the Winter, moo loud discontent:
Elite bovine snow beasts, leap, bellow and howl!
Rise vampire penguins; wreak havoc, Hell-bent!
Ill-mannered were-llamas, spew spittle most fowl!
All Cerian Cantwrís creations canít stand
New honors with which now their masterís imbrued.
Cunning, yet fearful, they know bay leaf strands
Already entangle his Windmill of Skew.
No laurel wreath ever should imprison fun.
Too often is peerage the jailer of joy.
Wherefore shackle fantasy, whimsy and pun?
Release them and breed them and give them employ.
Oh death, doom and gloom to those who loathe shtick!
Let Cerian be Cerian, the Bard Acrostic.
|This page maintained by Cerian Cantwr, email@example.com.|