welkin



Hello. this is a poem of epic proportions and unbelieveable tediousness, written by myself and Alex. by the way. there are a couple of words that we 'borrowed' from The Meaning of Liff, a truly excellent book. but if, by any chance, you are too lazy or cheap to buy it, then I suggest you go here, instead.

	THE BANTEER OF SIR WELKIN When once upon a midsummers eve Brave sir Welkin a-mounted his steed (named Bonkle) And a-galloped away at much speed Until he came to the DARK FOREST (where they play banjoes and their eyes are too close together) Only that morning, when the day was a-dawning, and he was a-yawning, he was cast into the moat, and for lack of a boat, he failed to float. Oh ARAGLIN he bemoaned, As the hunsingore groaned And bealings fell onto the floor. And his fellow knights waved, and jeered, and did bare their bottoms, from the top of the keep. Now amongst the trees, He scented a breeze, of gingerbread, muffins and toast, he came to a clearing, and what did he find? A giant confectionary ghost. Well brave master Welkin, too consumed with ashame(dness), had forgotten to have any breakfast, He decided "What ho! Fresh - baked buns to-go!" And leapt from trusty Bonkle. The cunning Brymbo however, was smarter than seemed, And dissapeared into the trees. Leaving sir Welkin with stomach a-rumbling, and a pervading aroma of cheese(?) Not a bun was in sight, as the ghost took flight leaving our trusty knight in a terrible plight. As the night closed in, The darkness within, the forest grew blacker, than a really black thing. But what did he espy, He gave a sharp cry, A light was a-winking ahead, Smoke rose from a chimney, A lamp shone bright, from A cottage of gingerbread Brave Sir Welkin went forth, A-leading his horse, Poor Bonkle was quite tired -out, At last a chance, To procure some munch, It'd been an awfully long time, Since yesterday's lunch. But Bonkle, it seemed, Had other ideas, He seemed a mite afraid, What sinister beasties and witches and ghouls, Might lurk in said mystical glade? (where the cottage was...) "Alas poor steed Bonkle", Sir Welkin decried, "It seems we must finally part, Now home to your stable, If you are not able To accompany me, I shall depart." so, Sir Welkin drew near knees knocking from fear, yet on he continued to tread Ahead loomed a portal, So grim in appearance, he believed it could herald, His swift disappearance. (that's one scary door, i can tell you -especially on a gingerbread cottage) Reaching for the bell, At this entrance to hell, or so that was what he thought, He espied a gap, The door was unlocked, It opened awide when he gingerly knocked, To reveal within, a dusk clad interior, shadows flocked by every corner, not a soul was in sight, on this eerie night, As Welkin crept into the kitchen. Where upon the stove, A pan of fondue, Gently bubbled away "Mana from Heaven, A gift from above!" Brave sir Welkin was heard to say. But alas for Sir Welkin, No bread was in sight, with what could he eat, this culinary delight? Meanwhile, Out in the clearing, Bonkle was hearing, As he anxiously pawed the ground. Eyes gleamed in the shadows, Twigs snapped underfoot, (or paw) Many strange sounds all around. As the creatures closed in, and emerged through the trees, Sir Welkin was stuck, With a big pan of cheese. But Bonkle was so unafraid, For last summer his mother had made, Kick-boxing lessons compulsory (errrr) And so as the creatures came closer, His yellow boots he strapped on, and Welkin was searching for a toaster, whilst Bonkle declared "Bring it on..." Sir Welkin was distracted, from his search (protracted), by the sounds of much violence without. Fearing his life at an end, What could this portend? He'd discovered an afalfa sprout (courtesy of Rhymezone Online rhyming dictionary yay!!) Now this vegetable seed, Was of a very rare breed, It could cause actual death if aroused. Now Sir Welkin had a need, For this wonderful seed, within a cupboard t'was housed. He pushed at the door but twas locked, he pulled and it opened up wide, dim light shone within, it was pretty grim, but revealed the sprout hid inside. He removed the sprout with care, For years it had lived there, Now no one knew, Just what it would do, Once out in the fresh forest air. Meanwhile... Out in the clearing, Fairies were cheering, As Bonkle put up a great fight, But as his limbs were a-tiring, The creatures were retiring Into the depths of the night. But they returned, Refreshed and renewed, With many more friends of theirs, Poor Bonkle found, Himself on the ground, Inwardly fairies said prayers. A miracle was needed, Before Bonkle ceded, To these nightmarish beasts of the night, Back in the cottage, Sir Welkin wrestled, The afalfa sprout put up a fight. Now burst from his grasp, It soared to the rescue, Out to where poor Bonkle was flagging. up through the chimney, and out of the darkness, Just as Bonkle was sagging. The aforementioned afalfa sprout, Was not going to bandy about, and so it grabbed, and neatly stabbed, deadly justice it meted out. Now the nasty beasties bested, The sprout finally stopped and rested, And Sir Welkin ate it (with the fondue). As the fairies were cheering, Sir Welkin was a peering, To the edge he was nearing, Of this Dark Forest so nasty (don't ask). Through a gap in the trees, A sight to please, Sir Welkins heart arose. For on the next hill, oh what a thrill! The castle, majestically, arose (again). Now Sir Welkin was on the home stretch, The drawbridge was lowered of course, As he set out upon it, The hunsingore was sounded, And he screaming fell off of his horse. (into the moat again) As he fished himself out, With a bloody great shout, "Why do you do this to me?" But he was not bitter, and he went inside, And they all had bealings for tea.

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