There was a good woman Who had herself a sire.
Yet, Jezebel Zarathustra, That Jackal Bar-Jesus
By the word of Theodore Marmaduke, Came and wooed her.
She was called Cousin to Theodore Marmaduke By Elvish cur science.
Jezebel loved the seed of men’s sex But the good woman was not so lewd.
But, the good woman was a gossip And a gross gossiper at that
Whose sire was found fatal Of the guilt of forlorn Bromdun.
The good woman, therefore, Found herself thoroughly wanned
By this, that her sire Was such like Bromdun’s sin.
So she sent the scent of slander to the four corners Of the sanguine seas
To spread her slanders, Through Jezebel’s gossip.
Her gossip therefore fueled Gross agitations of the war
Which raged unbeknownst to Bromdun. For, to protect her youth she reaped
Havoc upon Bromdun’s brow Hurling great bravado to berate him.
She turned the faces of the unclean Hardened under the unseen
Strings of ire, for tastdt loves,—unlike Bromdun’s who understood his lover.
Slander and gossip spread Of Bromdun in his neighboring sprawl
Where the small town tyrannized him, But he took to it without knowledge.
The whole city turned suspicious of Bromdun’s Bad past, a summary touted torrid.
It fueled the great war governing The seas and the stars, gaudy and ghastly.
The unclean hearts were culled For they all were certainly curt and cowards
That they were caught in conscience, But could not but use Bromdun as a crutch.
All could hate Bromdun, All had their sacrificial lamb to halt
Any suspicion of their own homely deeds. Sacrificial was he,
But the good woman only did so To protect her sire—such is gossip
That it does this evil gaff For to be forgiven, she ought have been on the side of good.
The city hated one another, Slandered one another, heard
Rumors about one another, For rumors spread from one to another row
Of houses held to horror So all were the good woman who
Jezebel had possessed To pursue Bromdun.
Her sire loved Bromdun, perhaps. Perhaps but in hypocrisy he did not.
Yet, if men look into their conscience, They will find curt, there, the guilt
Of Bromdun’s. A summary offense. Yet, fatal summary berated.
Bromdun will still say It was not mistake
To make known his sin So others may feel relief.
For, all have sinned And such a thing as a serpent knows this
And will try to turn men to wolves To warp their worldview to destroy
A man whose sin is just like their own. For a lynching is like this.
Ever what a man were guilty of They rage at this exposed sacrificial lamb.
Thus, the slanders of Jezebel spread Just as they always do;
And Bromdun was hated By his home and family.
He was bereaved of all hopes And hope lost, he only meant to sing
Upon his lute. Not to harangue, But to harp upon a state of juncture
That even just men have unjust things Which jeer the conscience.
And a conscience is such a rare thing, It ought not be chewed to sorrows.
B. K. Neifert 