The King's Clinic
When my friend fell off a wall,
I phoned up the local clinic.
“He’s got cracks,” I said in the call.
They said, “Bring him for a visit.”
As we parked he looked with fright,
Upon all the men who were dressed
As a bunch of Templar chef-knights,
With spatulas on their crest.
My pal was such the cynic,
Demanding we get out of there.
But I said, “It’s the King’s Clinic,
And there’s none finer anywhere.”
He then asked for other sources,
And really started to beg;
"Coz there’s a wheeled bowl pulled by horses,"
Claimed my friend, H. Dumpty the egg.
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