Deep in caves in Aldershot
Lives the hairy windybot
Many friends he has not got
Because he gets the wind a lot
What does he eat? I’ll tell you what
He just eats curry... really hot
So if you’re in a picnic spot
You’d better hope that he is not
For windybots they cannot smell
So when they trump they cannot tell
But when kids all go green and stiff
They know they’ve made a nasty whiff
So, for the sake of Jill and Dave
He trumps alone inside his cave
And though his trumps are not corrosive
What they are, is high explosive
It’s dark inside his cave at night
But windybot prefers the light
Alas his torch he had forgot
He struck a match, though he should not
So one match put him in a spot
When flames out of the cave mouth shot
Believe it or believe it not
There’s volcanoes in Aldershot
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.