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Listeners' Fantasies |
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Poedree Pleese
Deb Z
 Even Lynda's llamas have been inspired by our poetry competition on the Fantasy Archers topic of The Archers message board.
An almost unearthly silence reigned in the llama shed, punctuated only by Wolfgang nibbling the end of his pencil, in search of inspiration, and by Constanza flicking over the pages of her rhyming dictionary. Finally, Wolfgang sighed heavily.
"Thees ees verree deefeecult!"
"Si," agreed Constanza, "bud we muss ween book, juss to make sure we een eet."
"Verdad." Wolfgang sighed again, crossed out what he had just written and tried again. He scribbled another few lines and then, once more stuck for words - an unfamiliar feeling for him - gazed into the distance.
"Why doan you read me whad you done so far?" suggested Constanza, helpfully.
"Weell eef you reallee wan' " said Wolfgang doubtfully, clearing his throat, "Here numero uno;
'Em and Weell, wen' up the heell
On their way to the alter,
In her deestress, Em confess,
She'd behaved nod as she oughta'.
Seeing Constanza shake her head, Wolfgang tried again;
You shall hear how Wolf and Connie,
Standing there, all beribboned,
Danced ad Weell Grundee's weeddeeng feast ...
"No, no, no, no, no!" Constanza shook her head even more vehemently. "You nod grasp concept ad all! You haf eemageene you Weell talkeeng to Emma."
Wolfgang wrinkled his brow thoughtfully.
"Roll me ofer, een clover ..." he began.
"Santa Maria y todos los santos!" expostulated Constanza. "Try eemageene you deeclareeng luf for Santa Shula een verse."
"Aha," said Wolfgang, suddenly inspired, "I theenk I god eet!" He began to write fast and furiously. Within five minutes he handed his first draft to Constanza for approval.
Cautiously Constanza put on her reading glasses. She perused the offering carefully before ripping it to shreds.
"Waagh!" wailed Wolfgang, "whad you do thad for?"
"Oh woman een my hours of ease, I theenk of ways I might you please," quoted Constanza, "Wolfgang, por favor! Uno, Emma Carder nod blond, two she nod haf leeps of cherry red (an' neither haf Santa Shula for thad madder!) ..."
"Poeteec licence?" suggested Wolfgang.
"She ees nod thad weell eendowed ... an' as for ress, eet bordereeng on pornographeec!"
"No eet nod," scowled Wolfgang, "aneeway led me see whad you write. To whom you wriddeeng poeem?"
"Eet Don Ro ..." began Constanza, and then started again, "eet doan romotlee concern you ..."
"Thad nice to know," said Wolfgang, assuming the stance of a wronged Victorian patriarch, ";ed me see". He held out his hoof.
Reluctantly, Constanza gave him her draft. Five minutes later Wolfgang wiped a tear from his eye.
"Eet magnifica," he sniffed, "such lines! 'Eef I should die, theenk onlee thees of me, thad there some corner of an Ambreedge feeld thad ees forefer Weelleeum ... An then, (bud surlee thees for Ed?) Reemember me when I am gone away, Gone far eento the foreign land ... bud the final stanza - eet surpass all!"
When we are wed my dearest,
Think no sad thoughts of Ed,
For we are one, my Emma,
Weeth me you share your bed ...
Thees ees eet! We poss eet on messeege bowd straight away ..."
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