| |
The Aviator In The Sky
'Twas Saturday, folks would sleep in
recoup from days of toil,
my hope rests with the next of kin
to bring to a good boil
the water which fell from the sky
tears from the angels really,
they flavour what will glorify
the morning; coffee will flow freely.
I was, as is my custom now
en route to foreign destinations,
in fact, I stroked an Alpine cow
in hopes of out of sync lactation,
you see, the farmer, quite fatigued
was resting on a bale of hay,
I, traveller, of course intrigued,
who, always fond of udder play
felt hunger, thirst and something more.
How can you walk past any teats,
a Jersey cow would have in store
a bucketful which surely beats
the measly cartons in the shops
of pasteurised defatted stuff
plus, Nature CAN pull out all stops
that's when you see them in the buff.
By now, the farmer had regained
his conscience and he said with force,
this method that you use, it ain't
advisable for any horse.
A horse, he said, will rarely part
with milk, although it does take place,
however, those that play it smart
will keep away from teats their face.
You know, the Alpine men talk slow,
it takes all day to just explain
why Milka chocolates really glow
he said it comes with the terrain.
Curiosity lives in my head,
I probed the man, pulled out each word,
it seems that from his very bed
he saw the Alpine Mockingbird
who sits at night, smack on the back
of Milka cows to drive them mad,
it's only envy, birds do lack
an udder, which is truly sad,
not for the cows of course, oh no
imagine birds with swollen gland
on top of cows, perhaps a crow
would join them, who would understand
the implications of it all?
Where was....oh, yes the cows will munch
from April through to the late Fall,
a certain grass, (but not for lunch) ,
which does contain fluorescent sap,
and as they eat, that silly bunch
of feathered friends will take a nap,
as most of them will realise
that all the lights have disappeared
and useless are their reptile eyes,
it's something birds had never feared.
But cows, you may not know this yet,
are quite protective of their pride,
though some may call a cow your pet
they're masters of the countryside.
Now that the birds are fast asleep
all cows will start to slightly sway,
and from the bowels of the deep
the udder, Milka hits the hay.
The chemical reaction makes
from grass and daisies in the night
not Hershey's or that Land-O'-Lakes
but Milka which you Yankees might
not really appreciate,
you know, the junk that passes for
a snack, and is, at any rate
just rated for a discount store.
Next time you try the real Swiss
when with a girl you are (well, chaste)
before you try that Passion Kiss
give her a teensie-weensie taste.
That's what I did, way back in June
of nineteen hundred fifty-five
next day began our honeymoon
and, to this day I'm still alive.
Where was I....yes, that Saturday
half-sleeping felt a little quake,
I dreamed of storms out in the Bay,
and then sat up, fully awake!
That blasted pilot, once again
he flies his ultranoisy craft
at thirty minutes after ten
I KNOW the man is truly daft!
Out comes my Zeppelin at once,
equipped with all the best mod cons,
and sixteen window mounted guns
with shields of Krupp and Thyssen bronze.
Well, ladies and...I must be going
the battle is about to start
Baron von Dreifurth versus Boeing,
I'll shoot him down, that little fart!
Herbert Nehrlich
|
|
User Rating: |
|
1.0
/10
(1 votes) |
|
|
|
E-mail this poem to e friend