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A self-claimed seer named Guinevere
would never veer from things austere,
oft implying that denying
hankerings was gratifying.
Satisfying brazen whim
was nothing but a blazing sin,
and all should strive to quash and quell
excesses sending souls to hell...
that rocky road to rack and ruin,
that twisted track where trouble's brewing
in furnace filled with all that's heinous
for those who chose to shun abstemious
leanings in their daily plans
and live their lives as fervent fans
of titillation and delight,
of flagrant fun from morn 'til night,
of oohs and aahs and pile it high
upon the crest of why deny
a dredge of this, a wedge of that
with draughts of laughter from life's vat.
And so she lived, four score and ten,
without and ooh or aah or yen
for something that might mar or taint
her quest to be a sober saint,
with pious glare in shirt of hair
living on the thinnest air,
abhorring all guffaws and japes
in case they blasted pearly gates
from smoothest hinges oiled to swing
for Guinevere when she walked in
to grace the space of Holy Ghost.
Now, back on earth I raise a toast
of fragrant wine in spilling glass
to the farce of all things sparse,
a path my feet are loathe to tread;
they much prefer to dance instead...
to cha-cha in life's chocolate fountain,
to reel in clover while I'm counting
blessings brimming in my cup;
the jigs of life I can't give up...
I'm born to have my heart's desire.
I'm set to sweat in Hades' fire;
for though I hear the martyr's call,
I'm simply meant to have it all!
Upon chaise longue I quaff from flute
and shed a tear (while munching fruit)
for Guinevere and all her kind -
Good Lord, look what they've left behind!!
I won't shun fun for burning flesh,
I'll party 'til I meet my death;
for I will say (for what it's worth)
paradise is here on earth.
What's not to say the life we're given
is all we'll ever see of heaven?
Take heed, the likes of Guinevere -
go whoop it up while you're still here!