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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- ;)

-Kiyone-