If Edward Lear didn't exist,
we'd have to invent him.
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I
The Pig and the Pangolin took to the road
Of their mutual karma in quest,
Making headway bizarrely, they sped on a Harley,
A Hydra Glide. Ride...? Of the best.
This pair rarely flipp'd as their bike was equipp'd
With a sidecar of wondrous design
Which allow'd 'em to chat back 'n' forth, tit for tat,
As they straddl'd each highway's white line,
White line,
White line,
While astride ev'ry highway's white line.
II
Queried Pango of Pig, "What's this thingamajig...?"
As she handled his standard transmission.
"It permits," claim'd the swine as he stiffen'd his spine,
"Me to ride in half lotus position.
Which reminds," he went on, "me: as thither 'n' yon
We advance, what's the chance of our bedding...?"
To this Pango replied, "You can bet your pink hide
There's no pray'r...'til we've shared a white wedding,
White wedding,
White wedding;
Not a pray'r lest there's shared a white wedding."
III
"Here's the thing: 'twould be nice if, with ring, shoes and rice,
Our (say "when!") mise en scène would conclude,"
Purr'd the porker. "I mean, what a corker!...last scene
Starring two (me 'n' you) in the nude."
"Such will never take place lest we two about face.
We alternative plans need devise.
Trust me! Mother knows best," said the Pangolin. "Dress'd,
We might sort, then abort, our white lies,
White lies,
White lies,
No cavorting till's sorted those lies."
