I was shelling peas this morning
when a thought bewrought my brain:
I wonder if old Twemlow
ever bonks his old beldame.
Such fearful scenes the mind can raise
when dreamers least expect it:
Twemlow and his beldame
trying to get re-connected.
The very thought alarmed me,
and put me to the blush:
a pair of rancid badgers
fumbling in a bush.
Then lo! the very plate of peas
went skidding ‘cross the floor,
for even peas are never pleased
to see such scenes of gore.