#136
Missing Parts
John Milton wrote an epic poem,
An epic poem wrote he.
No one reads it now, of course,
Except my class and me;
Except my class and me.
Now I've retired no one's been hired
To teach majestic Milton;
Thus Beelzebub and his demon club
Celebrate at the local pub
With a keg of stout and stilton;
With a keg of stout and stilton.
[Pandemonium, alas, or a work in progress.]
The towers rose, the towers fell,
Wrought by agents straight from Hell
And straight to Hell returning,
Where now, unlike John Milton,
They find themselves still burning,
While Beelzebub and his loathsome crew
Consume their stout and stilton too,
Gloating that their demon lies
Always end in anguished cries
And no one reads John Milton;
And no one reads John Milton.