In Westminster, late last night,

I did hear tell,

That a scream rang out,

From Big Ben’s Bell.

Oh how he howled

Because down in his bowels,

The stewards had found

 A parliament of owls.

Some sat on the floor

Some stood by the door,

The one at the lectern

Sounded suprisingly stern.

I surmise that he was wise.

In all the books, it is said,

That owls of that age are very well read.

But one owl who was sat way up in the rafter,

Who appeared to me to be several times dafter,

Had fallen in love with an off white, white dove

And she laid an egg

Then said

I beg your pardon.

Too whit

To woo is not the thing to do

When you’re sat in the bowels

With a parliament of owls.


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