poem

As Dame Francesca’s host drew near
each wearing plates of steel,
the wizard in his feignéd fear
did turn upon his heel.

“You cannot run, you simpering knave,”
the dame called out to him,
“for I have twenty horsemen brave
awaiting, at my whim.”

“You cannot flee, this shall end here,
you’ll answer for your sin,
and for not yet another year
you’ll terrorize my kin!”

There once was a lad who always seemed sad
That some things were the stuff of cartoons.
"How happy I’d be - how delighted - " mused he,
"If some girls could blow up like balloons."

Now, it happened one night, that conditions were right,
And his timing could not have been better;
As he wished once again, there appeared in the den
A young lady in togs and a sweater.

Inflation Fantasy in Metric Form