[Bards] Bardic Challenge!
eleanor_cleavely at yahoo.com
Wed Mar 27 17:06:07 PST 2002
> Yes, I could ... but YOU try working
> "pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis" into
> a bardic thread.
And here is the result of that endeavour:
Ode to Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiousis
John Miner's Lament
Dedicated to that illustrious, generous and
magnanamous bard south of our borders of Elfsea whom I
hold as Dear to me as a Sister can and who is an
Inspiration to all of Ansteorras bards, great and
Lord Stephen MacThomas.
Bubba, this one's for you!
John Miner went to the chiururgeon
to see why he couldn't breathe.
He said, "Doc, I need some concoction
because this cough, well, it just won't leave.
You see, I'm a miner by trade.
I dig deep into this earth.
I use a pickaxe and my trusty spade.
Been a miner since the day of my birth.
And now I am here before you,
unable to inhale or exhale.
You have to help me please, but quick,
for I feel that my health will fail.
The chiururgeon stood steadfast and silent
as he listened to this tale of woe.
He said, "Count on my reliance, my boy,
what troubles you, this I know."
The chiururgeon lifted up
a large and dusty book.
With a smile, he said,
"Come son, let's take a look."
He flipped through pages and pages,
passing diseases and ailments galore
until he came upon a moth-eaten page
that was at least three pages or more.
Aghast, he stepped back, his hand to his heart
and looked at the miner so sickly.
"You thought this cough was just the beginning,
but this, son, will make you all prickly."
The miner sat bolt upright in his chair,
his face a pale shade of green.
He said, "Good chiururgeon, I beg you,
Please tell me what you have seen."
The chiururgeon looked at the miner
his face a mask of seriousness,
and with a measured tone he blurted out
The miner sat back against his chair,
his eyes had a look of relief.
"Boy am I glad you said that," he said
"You've saved me a ton of grief."
The chiururgeon stared at the miner
who struck his back with a slap.
"You really scared me there, doc" he said.
"I thought I had gotten the clap!"
The human language is like a cracked kettle on which we beat out a tune for a dancing bear, when we hope with our music to move the stars.
- - - Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary
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