Uphill he climbed, his girl behind.
He turned around, for love is blind,
Nor was he the obedient kind.
Fate held him in a double bind.
He turned around, only to find
His girl in Pluto's arms entwined.
Back at the top, he could not think
Or act or speak. He turned to drink.
Apollo raised one awful stink,
But Bacchus gave a tipsy wink
And Pan the Goat was tickled pink.
Distraught, he hovered on the brink
Of life and death. His choice was plain.
He'd leave the world with all its pain
Of loss, and seek his love again
Before his grief sent him insane.
Little to lose, so much to gain.
His lyre lay rusting in the rain.
So died he of a broken heart
(A sozzled liver played its part),
Descended to the Underworld,
Searched high and low to get his girl,
And now they wander, hand in hand,
Forever, through a happy land.
Good one. Just strikes the right note.
ReplyDeleteThe first verse reminded of a trip I made to the Lakes, years ago. I was driving along Thirlmere and decided to stop and go for a run up Helvellyn. Running on a busy day you pass a lot of walkers. I was amused to find myself passing a whole series of young couples. In each case, she was sat on a rock while he was pacing round about it, anxious to get on, by the look of his body-language.