The Plight of Revelle
"You desire poetry?" the lass did ask,
Her lips graced by her silver flask.
Her light blue gown was torn and stained;
Her light blue eyes, weary and pained.
She took a swill, another sip,
And then she stepped, and took a dip.
Into a ditch the poor girl fell;
Her spirits broken; poor Revelle.
A place where poetry was loved:
This setting fit her like a glove!
This community, she believed,
Was quite cultured; She was decieved.
Cheaters, whiners, creeps and crooks,
Their true behavior masked by books.
The greedy exhibited a cultural farce,
And when one lost, he became quite the arse.
Another cheater; she sobs to the floor:
"Doesn't anyone write their own poems anymore?!"
And with assault from dozens of horse-mounted peasants
She realizes the community is downright unpleasant.
But Revels was not taught to give up with ease;
A fortnight, a hangover, and she'd be quite pleased...
A plan she contrived, though sardonically mean.
"Caprice" was to be the next week's Revel theme.
And oh, how the duncial did holler and scream:
"WUT IZ CAPRICE? WHY R U SO MEEN?"
It seemed those poor fools were in quite a jam;
Caprice was the difference between Il and Ee San!
The strong were made weak by but one single word;
Picture a bear bested by a hummingbird.
The tiny brains squashed of the hunters, the snackers;
For Revels, this was like sandblasting soup crackers.
The Revel that week was gilded and pristine,
And Revelle, as expected, was feeling serene.
The hunters were ill with vocabulary exposure;
And Revels, without them, regained her composure.
-The End- ;)