by Chris "Childe Harold" Oakley
So we’ll go no more a-eweing
So late into the night,
Though the loins be still as lusting
And the moon still hid from sight.
Though the fleece be as inviting
And the soft bleats tease our ears,
On the wall we’ve seen this writing:
‘Watch out, sodomists and queers’
Our hearts us down are weighing,
Our souls but ponder gloom;
So our lives we try insuring,
Against our impending doom.
But the girl behind the counter
Knows our little ways:
‘Insure a rampant ewer?’
Quoth she with startled gaze.
‘A policy I cannot give you,’
Said she, toying with her plaids,
‘For all they say is true,
And I expect that you’ve got AIDS.’