Ovoidicus
I weep for poor Ovoidicus—he is dead!
Oh! Weep for poor Ovoidicus, though our tears
Assemble not the body or the head!
And thou, sad Hour, selected from all years
To mourn our loss, rouse circular compeers,
And teach them thine own sorrow! Say: "With me
Died poor Ovoidicus! Till the future dares
Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be
A lesson and a lamp for all eternity."
Where wert thou, mighty Mother, when he fell,
From his high perch atop the selfsame wall
Where he was wont to sit and hear the bell
Call Lords and Ladies, horsemen, steeds, and all?
With veiléd eyes wert thou asleep to call
Of destiny to guard that precious egg;
Wert thou oblivious to that hugey ball
That toppled without favor of a leg
Near soft enough—though strong!—to cushion him, I beg?
Lament anew, Cholestra! He has died,
From whole to separated in one drop;
A dozen, dozen pieces of his pride
Scattered about in bits from one great pop
That, shell-shocked, caused his happy heart to stop,
And globoid glory disappear from view,
An erstwhile treasure now fit for a mop,
Or breakfast chef battalion, all in crew,
To add a smorgasbord soufflé to their menu.
Alas! That all we loved of him should be,
But for our grief, as if it had not been;
One deadly fall, and all that’s left to see
Are merest bits of beauty that were him;
A glowing light forever will be dim.
He is made one with Nature. There is heard
His voice in all her music, and the sin
Of mass destruction and the broken word
Are quiet now: Ovoidicus is interred.
by Andrew Sacks
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Andrew Sacks lives in the greater L.A. area, in Fontana. He wears many hats (occasionally at the same time): English professor at two local community colleges and a private university; Rated chess Master; Freelance writer with published works both on the game of chess and various other subjects, primarily at www.chessdryad.com and www.angiesdiary.com; Humorist who is now concentrating on parodies of well-known poems, poets, and poetic styles.