Tuesday, 7 January 2014

Where should poets live?

'Are you sure?' asked Cyril.

'Sorry?' said Norma.

'It's just he looks fairly happy down there. Bottom of a cliff, dashed by wind and wave, exposed to all of natures rawest elements. Must be close on perfect for poetry! We could just throw some fresh pens and paper down to him every once on a while.'

Norma hit Cyril.

'We are not going to leave him down there!' she mooed.

'Well actually!' called up Horace.

'He needs rescuing!' continued Norma.

'Well actually!' called up Horace.

'Hmm, I suppose if you say so,' said Cyril. 'Your call! If we must!'

'We'll just wait for Bertha to come back with a longer rope.' said Norma.

'Fine! Fine!' sighed Cyril. 'So...while we're waiting...anyone fancy a cake?'

Annie put up three hooves and fell over.

'Tuck in then,' said Cyril.

So she did.

'Perhaps Horace would like one?' suggested Norma.

'Best not,' replied Cyril. 'We aught to keep him as light as possible. Can't risk a slice of Viccie sponge pushing him beyond a point where I could lift him. I on the other hoof should weight as much as possible!'

So Cyril ate several slices of Victoria sponge...and then several whole Victoria sponges...and a couple of trifles. but it was all for Horace's benefit. Cyril didn't enjoy it one little bit.

1 comment:

Armenoi said...

Oh the sacrifice of Heroes.