Bard Billot bids bye-bye to those biffed out by the blue tide
The Gates of Paradise
King’s Landing is fallen.
The House of Red is scattered, dispersed, exiled.
Taniwha Nanaia of the Nine Waters,
Lost Count Michael of the Roskill Mountains,
The Lorckaqueet,
Lord Whatsisname of Twyford,
Governess Tinetti of the Slough of Plenty:
All flown over the horizon.
Lord Andy the Little dabs in farewell
And gallops merrily into the sunset.
A battered rump lurk in the Dank Hills of Opposition,
Muttering darkly around smokey fires of wet twigs.
Meanwhile, an army of woad-daubed Orcs
Cavort in the Great Hall, drunk on power.
Can it possibly get worse?
Yes, it can get worse.
Minor and Obscure Baronet Dan Of Rosewarne,
Stripped of his complimentary flute of champagne,
Is ejected from the Isle of Koru by stern angels
And roughly deposited amongst the budget travellers
With a half-empty paper cup of flat lemonade.
The mists of legend close around poignant memories
Of the Legendary Koru Hour Buffet:
Of black pepper braised lamb shoulder with baby carrots,
Of ginger soy chicken with capsicum and spring onion,
Of the vegan option of sweet and sour tofu with edamame and sesame,
And the exquisite morello cherry tart with vanilla cream.
The Gates of Paradise are sealed.
Victor Billot has previously felt moved to write Odes for such luminaries as David Seymour, Nicola Willis, Chris Hipkins and Mike Hosking.
