Medieval Modicums’ Speak

Ooh Err, she said, agog, before the tear
streaked ads of errant woes!

I’ve lost me Holy Grail,

the grimace of
the angstified thingy replied

even without needing to speak

Jump on your ‘orse why dontcha?
Go on a quest or summic, she cried (waving ‘er arms about like)

I’m gonna stay ‘ere before the dawn of morn
aglowing in me finest old fashioned stuff, she wailed.

Then wept and wept and wept some more.

Ivor Griffiths 2007

This entry was posted on Sunday, September 23rd, 2007 at 12:20 am and is filed under My Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.