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Poem

There was a camel that trots a lot,
He trotted his way from Camelot;
With tasseled fringe and jeweled saddle,
He fiorded rivers with a golden paddle.
Up the dunes and across the sands,
He traversed all the way to Arab lands;
Where there is no water to pump,
So he carries it in his camel’s hump.

On the way from Camelot,
The rider found that he forgot
All the jewels and precious things,
Borrowed with haste from Hottentot kings;
So he turned his camel around,
For what was lost had not been found;
Then he steered his beast toward the east,
Where men of China drink and feast.

The man who came from Camelot,
Sat on his camel and smoked some pot;
He puffed with need on the evil weed,
Till his lungs were filled with empty greed.
He spent his days looking glazed,
And what he smoked caused some delays.
But the man on the camel that liked to trot,
His name of fame was Sir Lancelot.

Now Sir Lancelot was very hot,
And he never found a shady spot;
But he had a drink from the camel’s hump,
By using his hand to pump the lump;
And all the while the camel was panting,
While Sir Lancelot was loudly ranting;
And the words he spoke were poppycock,
All the way back to Camelot.

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