Anyways, this fella an’ me, we were on a rhyme-spree.
“Bob, ” I asked, “to what now do you aspire?”
To which he replied, in a drawl slow as a wet week,
”A spire? A place no man can dwell”.
This was going to be a long ride, I could tell.
“No, Bob,” said I, wanting to make myself quite clear,
“what I mean to say is: where do you go from here? And
Not just in the geographical sense,
Though in that I have an interest as well.”
To which he replied most cryptically
“Interest compounds! Fate confounds!”
- a pronouncement with which I could not argue.
Not understanding its import in the least,
I just nodded as if to concur with this profundity
and once again ventured to elicit
an intelligible response to my enquiry, to wit:
what it was indeed that drove him onwards.
“What I mean to ask, Bob,
What it is I am seeking
Is simply to know where it is
You’re intending to go from here?”
To which he replied quite stridently
“I ain’t goin’ anywheres that I know of,
But you are surely welcome to string along.”
At this point I could not but help from thinking
That he was thinking this was a song.
“That I would very much like to do, Bob,
“And try to be good company.”
Straightaway I regretted my presumption
That I could be a welcomed
traveling companion of his.
“There’s no good company anymore,” he opined,
Pressing hard down on the throttle,
“we passed the last one way back a-piece –
Now kindly do pass me that bottle.”