The Zarf Of Zircon Poem by Etienne Charilaou

The sun had zipped to its zenith,
when the zeppelin zoomed over
the ziggurat. The guide says, '
Please turn down the zither music.
Now, in this zone, zoolatry was
practiced.'

‘Who's that zappy runner?
It's a Zarathustrian with an
immense ziff. He points a
zirconium alloy-ringed finger.
‘Zombies! Zillions of them!
Zounds! ' The Zoroastrian zigzags
with zing. He probably has zero
chance of escape - zilch!

‘Look over zere -' a passenger says,
‘on the river - a zebec! '
A zinjanthropus with almost Zwinglian zeal
could not outdo our zany zigzagger,
as he hurls himself aboard. The crew
is zonked - no zest at all, and a zephyr
barely fills the sails. It looks like zugzwang.

But then - zap! A zeta-ray reduces
the zombies to zwitterions! ‘It's zover,
zank goodness! Now we can drink our coffees
from these wonderful zircon-encrusted zarfs.'