Tuesday, July 21, 2009

The Silt Grain Trio

Deep deep down in the very depths of the sea
Is a squat pile of rock silt, that moves in groups of three
Some very brainy grain detaches with two friends
And wanders over hills, going ‘round bends
They pip and they holler and make shocking noise
These little silt grains pound their loudest toys
They bash and bang and they clash and clang
With their jingling jammers and their trumpeting tang
Up and down the sea-streets where the gubberfish live
The ‘silt grain trio’ got up to mischief

‘We’re bored!’ cried One.
‘We’re hungry!’ cried Two.
So One made some fun,
And Two stole some food.
‘Come back with my pie,’ grumpy Flub Gubberfish yelled.
‘Stop nicking my pastries with your tangs and your bells!’
The silty boys scarpered like salt in sea breeze
All the way to their hideout in the continental-drift-trees

‘Have some of my pie!’
‘I don’t mind if I do!’
One widened his eyes
At a big slice from Two
Three gave a sad sigh.
‘Hey Three! What’s wrong with you?’
‘It doesn’t excite me at all, my tang is quite bangless,
I don’t like shaking my jammer or robbing the fangless
Both of you silts, One and Two, are crude and rude
And when you sit down to eat, you don’t chew your food.’

‘We can change our ways and be nice to the fishes.’
‘We could bake them some muffins and wash their dishes.’
One and Two each had such a good look on their face,
Three couldn’t keep up with their change of pace
The silt-gang hideout became a ‘help the elderly’ base
Where they organised the bimonthly Gubberfish race

One, ‘What a change of heart!’
Two, ‘We are the real winners,’
‘When we die and depart,
We can ditch the sinners.’
‘Three is quite right, this is our heavenly ticket.’
‘When we kick the bucket, St. Peter can stick it.’
‘Our free pass past the angelic gates.’
‘Good deeds mean we sweeten our fates!’
‘Then with great celestial howls as we jingle our jammers,’
‘And with Jesusy bellows when we crash with our hammers,’
‘We’ll make lots of racket and wake demons in hell...’
‘Running all through the streets and banging our bells.’

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