Grapevine
 
Rumour has it there’s a ferret  
Down the farmer’s trouser leg
Fat on fudge and licks of claret  
Leaking from an oaken keg.
Rumour has it there’s a parrot 
Nesting in the vicar’s wig
Orange as an ass’s carrot  
Dipped in syrup from a fig.
Rumour has it that a harlot
With a spunky guinea pig
Met a monkey and a marmot 
Keen to dance a kinky jig
On a hillock (green and fleecy)
Mown by squirrels from Assisi.
 
Rumour has it there’s a weasel  
Out to mar the afternoon  
Popping bubbles with a thistle
From the banks of Shrew Lagoon.
Rumour has it there’s a weevil
On the cheek of a baboon
Stirring up a slew of evil
With a bone and brimstone spoon.
Rumour has it one who sees all
Will be coming very soon
Wired and fired to fell and freeze all
Jabberers beneath the moon.
Rumour has it tittle-tattle
Sparks a hot and bitter battle.
 
Rumour has it there’s a friar
Filching from a nun in need
With a tenor from the choir
Lacking grace and wracked with greed.
Rumour has it life’s a liar
Of the cloaked and cunning creed
With an eye that flashes fire
And a claw of dirty deed.
Rumour has it days are dire.
Tragedy has sown its seed.
Piety is on the pyre.
Anarchy has gathered speed.
Every rumour here is honest
As the Brown-Nose Toad has promised.

Susan Jarvis Bryant


If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Susan Jarvis Bryant would be pleased to hear them