[CH] Poetry again
Alex Silbajoris (asilbajo@hotmail.com)
Thu, 21 Sep 2000 14:51:24 GMT
Sorry if this goes out twice, but Hotmail failed when I tried to send it the
first time, and I haven't seen it arrive here.
In celebration of the hab fields, this is a spoof of Sailing to Byzantium,
by Yeats.
That is no country for spices. The jam
On larded biscuits spreads, among the sweets
The maraschino cherry on the ham,
The salmon rolls, the crowded mac and cheese,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, vegetables from a can,
The mildest fare celebrated as treats.
Caught in the sleepy blandness all will spurn
Condiments laden with merciless burn.
A bland palate is but a paltry thing,
An idle tongue, a sweatless brow, unless,
It joyously discovers capsaicin,
And every meal with liveliness is blessed,
No joy is greater than the harvesting
Of sacred pods whom all proclaim the best.
So I have crossed the fields and streams to be
In the sandy, rolling fields of Waverly.
Oh firey, potent pods upon the vine,
Whose brilliant reds eclipse the tones of Fall,
With every thunk, the bucket says you're mine,
Had I but time, I would gather you all.
Then after all my labors you will line
The waiting shelves along my kitchen wall.
Then be you dried, or potion held in glass,
I'll always have you there to kick my ass.
For ever more, when I will go to meet
My fellow Chile Heads, each one will bring
Some cherished sample of this Summer's heat
To share with all, the blessed suffering;
Then these red habs will make the scene complete,
All friends together, in the firey ring.
Then all will gladly raise a glass and toast
The generosity of James the Host.
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