Sail most by south, by west the least,
until the moon sets in the east.
There, in a sea the hue of custard,
ye'll see the Ile de Deux Sans Mustard
where locals speak like buccaneers,
calling you ‘me dear' and us ‘me dears'.
Their pirate accent's quite inexorable
though, than ours, their grammar more is flexible.
They appear to verge on being mammalian
a little bit like South Australians
(I'd never in the name of mirth
deride the folks who come from Perth) .
Hard left, first manatee you see,
or right, your choice, you're free as me
(it's nix to do with politics,
a pox on all elected plicks) .
Sail till the sea turns sweetest violet
and there you'll spot the cutest islet
(had we to rhyme with ‘sweetest red',
it'd be a continent instead) .
Here, when poetry is long dismembered
lies the place of rhyme remembered.
Yes, you have come upon a land
that any poet would think is grand.
Where almost everybody aint
any kind of ffffflamin' saint
but seldom use the worst of curses,
when they converse in freeish verses,
or communicate in playful rhymes,
pretty well whenever they feel like it.
Hahahahahahaha........sorry Red.......just read the comments below! ! How funny: ^D Great writing! Yet again x
Having had the ignominy of Australia beating Wales at Rugby, again! I'm sure that you can understand my reluctance to hand out praise to antipodeans, but what must be must be. So, I am saying this very quietly. Excellent stuff. (Oh God I feel ill!)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hahahahaha great ending. Enjoyed this me hearty!