Sonnet #30 by FisherKingKQJ
Irked by scrawled biro blots upon a map,
And strapping on and off our knapsack loads,
Till concertina'd folds had shred to scrap,
Till we improvised bumpy dirt back roads.
Loose hybrid bikes loud rattled the flatdeck,
The barefoot priest in kneelength cassock tent,
Gear shifting, asked which dish we'd like to check:
Broiled cozido from volcanic steam vent.
He bragged of Skelling Michael Island long:
His fingers tripped along my friend's slim thigh
A gang of fearless puffins who would throng
The monastery hundreds of steps high.
The Ford ute nearly stalled. I'd be so daft
To ask a priest about the old crankshaft.
{3D interactive chorus:}
o $10,000,000 daft.
o $10,000,000 loon.
o $10,000,000 mad.
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]
SPADES DIAMONDS CLUBS HEARTS