• FRIVOLOUS RHYMES •

Lightweight poems that are for pure entertainment. Some out of the book and, soon, some new.
You'll find more poems in my collection of short works, "Dandelion Days", available as Paperback or a Kindle read from Amazon.
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Herbs for mixing medicinal potions.

The Terrible Tale of Archibald Creak

This is a short tale of
Poor Archibald Creak
Who, for his aches and pains
Did new remedies seek
For he suffered severely
Each day of the week
Sometimes so badly
He could hardly speak.

He awoke every morning
With a pain in his head
And a pain in his back
When he got out of bed
With his legs so numb
He thought they were dead
And an ache in his foot
When he dared to tread.

In his fingers, arthritis
Would sting him like bees
He could hardly walk
With the ache in his knees
His neck and his shoulders
Too stiff to climb trees
He can’t nod his head
To someone he sees.

To find a great cure-all
Became his resolve
Perhaps new medication
He could solely evolve
So strong and so potent
The world’s ills he’d solve
Hundreds of notions
Round his head did revolve.

He picked leaves from the elder
And bark from the ash
Some strange woodland fungi
And made a thick mash
Then knocked over the basin
With a terrible crash
As it spilled ’cross the floor
And the basin did smash.

He next tried some onions
Some dock leaves and dill
Stirred in some pond weed
And crushed up some krill
He left it to ferment
But the smell made him ill
And he knew this was one thing
That would not fit the bill.

He scoured all the land
As ingredients he sought
Some that he scavenged
And some that he bought
He mixed them and boiled them
And it all came to nought
Not even a remedy
For the cold that he caught.

For one final attempt
He mixed sulphur with leek
Adding marsh mud and borage
That he left for a week
Then creamed up a lotion
Which despite the strong reek
He called ‘Archibald’s Answer’
The cure-all you seek.

Now came the day
For the ultimate test
And ignoring all caution
With excitement and zest
He smeared it all over
Before he got dressed
He had reached, he was sure
The end of his quest.

Despite good intentions
In concocting this balm
A surprising result
Meant folk stared with alarm
His skin turned bright purple
But with no other harm
Though his pains were no better
He still stayed quite calm.

Into his mirror he woefully stared
Not knowing what next to do
An obvious answer came to his mind
He’d sample an earlier brew
He sipped very gently, avoiding all haste
To allow the affect to accrue
Although it was not beneficial at first
His skin colour did pale to blue.

As he ponders his next move
The alarm he does hear
In comes the morning light
There’s nothing to fear
His quest only a dream
Now that was quite clear
For the evening before
He’d supped too much beer.

So he pushed himself up
With a pain in his head
And a pain in his back
When he got out of bed
With his legs so numb
He thought they were dead
And an ache in his foot
When he dared to tread.

To find a great cure-all
Was not his domain
His old medication
Would help ease the pain
And he’d suffer the rest
With a note of disdain
As he went on his way
In sun, wind or rain.
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