There now follows a sad tale of poor customer service in the Himalayas: I once met an ill-tempered yak Who configured my girlfriend's new Mac He charged twenty quid For all that he did But I think I want fifteen quid back.
One might think that Will's lost the plot Milk freezes yet crabs sizzle hot As Love's Labour ends Drear 'Winter' attends And greasy Joan still keels the pot
On the moor a green lantern glows, Midst heather's scent the cold sea breeze blows, Waves were a crashin’ The clans be a clashin’ The mist lift and gray daylight grows...
More religion (Luke's version, rearranged, for assisted brevity!). Fourth line scansion is a little forced, but does fit: Our father, we hallow your name Your Kingdom will come, we proclaim, Our daily bread feed us To temptation don't lead us Forgive sins, as we forgive same.
Her eyes are not much like the sun Her breasts are not white but mere dun Flutes make finer sound Her feet tread on the ground But the truth is, for me she's the one.