lady carol was walking in the garden
the tulips were withered and sere
the owls were spouting moonshine
because it was that time of year
lady carol was composing a sonnet
her brain was ready to burst
a toad was squatting in her path
because her ancestry was cursed
she passed a hand over her forehead
as she struggled with her thirteenth line
i would sell my soul for a crumpet, she cried
and my body for a glass of wine
the toad was having none of it
he held his ground like an hussar
you will never write a sonnet, he cried
if you do not know who you are
lady carol cried avant! avant!
and fell down in a heap
now beetles and caterpillars curse her
as around her carcass they creep
somewhere dogs and children are playing
on a sunny adriatic shore
but in the gazebo the silverware is silent
because lady carol is no more
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