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Rated: E · Poetry · Nonsense · #2274871
In the plural no less.
Sir Peter Blanc du Lapin, was a Knight of great estate.
His lettuce fields were massive, and of quality, first rate.
All the ladies loved him, he really bucked the trend.
Whenever he held a party, they made sure to attend.

Had a splendid personality, he really was a card.
Always dressed in splendour, but never tried, too hard.
An elegant, skilful dancer, so very light on his feet.
The most perfect gentleman, you could ever wish to meet.

Some wondered at his fortune, this furry landed gent.
But all agreed, whatever else, his money was well spent.
He came from humble origins, his mum lived in a hole.
Now he had a mansion, and a solid gold punch bowl.

Sir Peter had a cousin, a fellow name of Ben.
Didn't often see him, only every now and then.
Benjamin Chalk-Coney was Bishop of the Down.
Reputedly quite learned, he wore a mitre on his crown.

A skilful public orator, he had the gift of a silver tongue,
Though some thought, quite privately, his sermons, far too long.
Had strong views on worship, the carrot and the stick,
Would usually between them, more than do the trick.

He had the strangest habit, when donning winter apparel.
That he would sing and very loud, to prove he knew his carol.

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