Parody Pages

Author: Robert FrostLovers, forget your love,
And listen to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the caged yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her thru the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by
To come again at dark.He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,

Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.

But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.
Per chance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.

But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say,
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.

Author: Rebecca Rachel FaulksTrevor takes off his gloves,
And grins for all the class to see,
As the teacher glowers,
He pulls down his pants and pees.When the thin and frosty trail
Appears outside the room,
A dirty word forms in the snow
Behind a rounded moon,
He’s grinning though the pain,
As the cold wind hits its mark,
For though his top half’s warm and dry
His bum’s completely stark.He knows that he has sinned,
The teacher tells him so,

He acts like he hasn’t heard,
Then tells her where to go.

Kids climb upon the sill,
What frightful noise they make,
And witness from within
As Trevor gives his bum a shake.
And while still half unveiled
In unobstructed sight
He turns around to face the glass
And dances in the white.

But he’s soon dragged back inside
And for his fun he’ll pay,
His parents packed their bags and moved
A hundred miles away.

Old Dog Tray
by Stephen Foster
Old Cat Tray
by Rebecca Rachel Faulks
The morn of life is past,
And ev’ning comes at last;
It brings me a dream of a
once happy day,
Of merry forms I’ve seen
Upon the village green,
Sporting with my old dog Tray.

Old dog Tray’s ever faithful;
Grief cannot drive him away;
He’s gentle, he is kind,
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.

The forms I called my own
Have vanish’d one by one,
The lov’d ones, the dear ones
Have all pass’d away;
Their happy smiles have flown,
Their gentle voices gone,
I’ve nothing left but old dog Tray.

Chorus   (x2)

When thoughts recall the past,
His eyes are on me cast,
I know that he feels what
My breaking heart would say;
Although he cannot speak,
I’ll vainly, vainly seek
A better friend than old dog Tray.


The night is sadly past,
And morning comes too fast;
It brings me a dream of a
once clean cat tray,
Where many things I’ve seen
All ghastly and obscene,
Sorting through my old cat tray.

Old cat tray’s quite disgraceful;
Reeks as I clear it away;
The mess they leave behind!
I may not ever find
Why all these cats have come to stay.

Ten cats I call my own
Have been here one by one,
The black ones, the white ones,
They’ve all passed this way;
The mess each time has grown,
They’ve left their gifts and gone,
I’ve nothing left but old cat tray.

Chorus   (x2)

My thoughts recall the past,
I clean the tray out fast,
I know I must do this
But I don’t want to stay;
I’ll get it done quite quick,
So that I won’t be sick
What better task to start the day?


Something Left Undone                           Something Left Undone
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow            by Rebecca Rachel Faulks

Labour with what zeal we will,                   Laughing, they’re in peals at Will
Something still remains undone,               Something still remains undone,
Something uncompleted still                      Something he’s not noticed still
Waits the rising of the sun.                          Until he does, the rest poke fun.

By the bedside, on the stair,                        In the office, people stare,
At the threshold, near the gates,                And on the street, and near the gates,
With its menace or its prayer,                    Will’s completely unaware
Like a medicant it waits;                              Of his exposed, unfastened state;

Waits, and will not go away;                        State, that still more people see;
Waits, and will not be gainsaid;                  State that’s still not been made right;
By the cares of yesterday                              Kids yell things like “X, Y, Z!”*
Each to-day is heavier made;                       And ask him if he’s scared of heights;**

Till at length the burden seems                  Till at length the sagging seams
Greater than our strength can bear,           Alert him that he’s rather bare,
Heavy as the weight of dreams                   He finds in horror that his jeans
Pressing on us everywhere.                          Aren’t covering him everywhere.

And we stand from day to day,                  He holds his head in deep dismay,
Like the dwarfs of times gone by,              Helpless to change times gone by,
Who, as Northern legends say,                  The giggles and the taunts replay,
On their shoulders held the sky.               All for a little unzipped fly.

* (Examine your zipper)
** (Your zipper is)

Romance                                                     Rupert

by Edgar Allan Poe                                        by Rebecca Rachel Faulks

Romance, who loves to nod and sing          Rupert, who loves to dance and sing
With drowsy head and folded wing            Played air guitar while showering
Among the green leaves as they shake      While overhearing I would shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,        With laughter at the sounds he’d make,
To me a painted paroquet                           He’d snap his fingers to the beat
Hath been—most familiar bird—               The strangest sound I’d ever heard –
Taught me my alphabet to say,                  Can’t understand a word he says
To lisp my very earliest word                      Incomprehensible’s the word
While in the wild wood I did lie,                Sounds great! Fantastic! I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.            But couldn’t look him in the eye.

Of late, eternal condor years                   Of late, the months have stretched to years
So shake the very Heaven on high              His voice still shakes the house, I sigh
With tumult as they thunder by,                 I laugh no more, I want to cry,
I have no time for idle cares                        He won’t shut up, I’m in despair
Through gazing on the unquiet sky;          Through living with this screaming guy;
And when an hour with calmer wings       And now, of all the dreadful things
Its down upon my spirit flings,                   He’s taken up the violin,
That little time with lyre and rhyme           That little time that once was mine
To while away—forbidden things—           Of quiet is gone – the screeching rings –
My heart would feel to be a crime              They drove me to a desperate crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.           I crept inside and cut the strings.

A Red Red Rose                                             A Red Red Bum

by Robert Burns                                                   by Rebecca Faulks

O my luve’s like a red, red rose.                        O my Bum’s like a red, red, rose
That’s newly sprung in June;                            That’s newly sprung in June;
O my luve’s like a melodie                                 O my Bum doth play a melodie
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.                            Distinctly out of tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,                       As fair art thou, my bonnie ass,
So deep in luve am I;                                          So proud of thee am I;
And I will love thee still, my Dear,                   And I’ll put powder on my rear
Till a’the seas gang dry.                                      Till both the cheeks gang dry.

Till a’ the seas gang dry, my Dear,                   Till both thy cheeks gang dry, my rear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun:                        And glisten in the sun
I will luve thee still, my Dear,                           I will wipe thee still, my rear
While the sands o’life shall run.                       While the schitts o’ life shall run.

And fare thee weel my only Luve!                    And how thee smell, my only Bum!
And fare thee weel a while!                               And how thee smell, so vile!
And I will come again, my Luve,                      And thou shalt schitt again, my Bum,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile!                       And leave it in a pile.


6 thoughts on “Parody Pages

  1. Looking for some analysis of Romance by Edgar Allan Poe… i was actually trying to undersand something better . It was a very nice break from work ! Thanks.

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