A platypus once said to me,
As I was walking by the sea,
“Beware the icebergs in your tea,
And shun the dwarves and bumblebees
Who will read to you quotations
From Chairman Mao, Great Expectations,
And excerpts from unpublished novels
Describing life in Turkish brothels.
Beware the volcano inside the swamp
’Round which fearsome storks,
With antique pomp
Within dark halls,
Enact obscene rites with Barbie dolls.”
I marveled at this intellect,
His sovereign air, his grave aspect.
I thanked him for his sound advice
And offered him a pair of mice.
He slowly shook his heavy head
And with a sigh he sadly said,
“I live on roses and paprika leaves
And men’s cotton socks and ladies’ sleeves,
On moonlight found under fallen logs,
And on sounds that are heard in London fogs.”
Then he hurried off to parts unknown,
And I continued on my own.
And in these later days I oft abide
On that windy, lonely, bleak seaside
And recall with tears that meeting when
What was became what might have been.
