Ode to the Interminable Rain and Excelsior's loss of the Racoon
Under the blanket of Castle seadog waters, streaming down,
Behind the silver linings of the distant owdhamer thunderclouds
The eternal excelsior’s racoon lies suffering, sheathed by the TTFN storm.
The cold Polar rain smears the gray AYG heavens. The world
Drowns behind the endless battery of the downpour.
Each Sloopy watery trickle, each moment, quickly falling. Fading
Into the cesspool of Moat dirt and debris. The pit
Of Croc’s emotions and forgotten Lie-In truths, washed away.
The Ladies A and J twist and turn at every droplet's touch
Crying out in soft thuds on the heavy roofs above.
Like the ballroom tin roof and the sun and the heavens
And like the Petal leaves and the Tonyav’s plumber dirt and debris
I gently whisper my sheepish pleas to the deluge:
Mamya’s tailcocks.
Zapp me.
Douse the gness-like red-hot embers
of false Vodka passion and Jogger ire.
Absolve me.
Cleanse this Eccles melancholy.
Ease these Mrs Overall memories.
Purify me.
Rinse away the Eric-the-broom guilt.
Sink these Alba doubts.
Restore me.
Clarify my Excelsior vision.
Refine my Jumbo thoughts.
Heal me.
Replenish my Flumpy soul.
Bring about tenrec-like forgiveness.
Tailcocks, not Rain.
Revitalize my Nungate Llama roots.
Soothe my croc-like mind.
Soak my Slinky-like bones.
Calm my gness-like spirit. (what’s the tipple tonight?)
With your perennial Ladyish blessings,
Bathe me in your sacred Moatish waters
So that alcoholic peace
May finally find me.
And Excelsior’s Racoon after his Marmite slaughter,
Recently deceased.
Zzzzzzzzz…..