THE LOON OF OXFORD

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I picked my bike and in a hurried way that is rather my own made my hurried way to Loon’s house,

I got in through the window and I got in through the door,

I knocked over her precious window vases and rather displaced her door mats.

Loon did not mind, it is Oxford you see.

 

I spoke quietly to Loon as she likes,

Then I shouted at her a little bit because she is somewhat deaf,

I bled her ears and rather made wet her face,

Loon was unfazed, she is the loon of oxford you see.

 

When time came for tea, she did not brew it,

In a rather conceited way, she threw two bags into my cup.

‘What a strange thing to do Loon!’

I was  not surprised, she is a loon you see.

 

I spoke to her of her mother and her father and her siblings,

She spoke back at me dispassionately in terms of logic and reasonings,

‘Reasoning’ she corrected, I stared ever amazed.

Loon then took a huge swig from her bottle of gin; she always has one you see.

 

When it was time to say goodbye, she rose up rather too quickly,

Extended a dry yet warm handshake and a hug a squeeze too tight,

Said she would write and think of me as often as she did rub her eyes,

She is the Loon of Oxford, she often rubs her eyes you see.

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