One Dimly Lit and Shadow Morn
One dimly lit and shadow morn
Outside all made of weather.
A cor’d o’ blimey son was born
Drooped in an angel feather.
‘Are you the lady of the lake?’
I asked in spectful tone.
‘The one with dodgy handlebrake
And speeches like a phone?’
‘Indeed I am that holy man.’
She answered all a sieve.
And leaking me a secret word
One she could only give.
I followed like an acrobat
Half juggling at the moon.
And knowing this was where it’s at
Ate Elvis with a spoon.
A bacon with its rind cut off
Came ambling like a Sunday.
And leaner than a racing sloth
It giggled like a Monday.
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