After the announcer’s gun
Had pronounced that he had won,
And the cheering of the crowd
Died at last, the tortoise bowed,
Clasped the cup with quiet pride,
And sat down, self-satisfied.
And he thought: “That silly hare!
So much for her charm and flair.
So much for her idle boast.
In her cup I’ll raise a toast
To hard work and regularity.
Silly creature! Such vulgarity!
Now she’ll learn that sure and slow
Is the only way to go –
That you can’t rise to the top
With a skip, a jump, a hop –
That you’ve got to hatch your eggs,
That you’ve got to count your legs,
That you’ve got to do your duty,
Not depend on verve and beauty.
When the press comes, I shall say
That she’s been shell-shocked today!
What a well-deserved disgrace
That the fool has lost this race.”
But it was in fact the hare,
With a calm insouciant air
Like an unrepentant bounder,
Who allured the pressmen round her.
“Oh, Miss Hare, you’re so appealing
When you’re sweating,” said one, squealing.
“You have tendered gold and booty
To the shrine of sleep and beauty,”
Breathed another, overawed;
And Will Wolf, the great press lord
Filled a gold cup – on a whim –
With huge rubies to the brim
Gorgeous rubies, bold and bright,
Red as cherries, rich with light –
And with an inviting grin
Murmured: “In my eyes you win.”
And perhaps she had; the hare
Suddenly was everywhere.
Stories of her quotes and capers
Made front page in all the papers –
And the sleepy BBC
-Beastly Broadcast Company –
Beamed a feature in the news:
“All the World Lost for a Snooze” –
Soon she saw her name in lights,
Sold a book and movie rights,
While a travel magazine
Bought the story, sight unseen,
Of her three hour expedition
To the wood – called “Mushroom Mission”.
Soon the cash came pouring in,
And to save it was a sin –
So she bought a manor house
Where she lived with mole and mouse –
And her friends, when they played
Gibble-gabble all the way –
Let her spell Compete with K.
Thus the hare was pampered rotten
And the tortoise was forgotten.
Life is an old man carrying flowers on his head.
young death sits in a cafe
smiling, a piece of money held between
his thumb and first finger
(i say "will he buy flowers" to you
and "Death is young
life wears velour trousers
life totters, life has a beard" i
say to you who are silent. - "Do you see
Life? he is there and here,
or that, or this
or nothing or an old man 3 thirds
asleep, on his head
flowers, always crying
to nobody something about les
roses les bluets
will He buy?
Les belles bottes - oh hear
, pas cheres")
and my love slowly answered I think so. But
I think I see someone else
there is a lady, whose name is Afterwards
she is sitting beside young death, is slender;