Tell me a tale of pigs in pokes
and onions and groats
and all took slow to market.
Where Jack falls down
like a ribald fool clown
and Jill’s heart is broke ever after.
Yes, tell me please,
I’m here ill-at-ease:
the day wanes fast
while the echoes dance
and the dish is having its way with the spoon.

Thank you for reading doggerel. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed it and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.


© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge,

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