The Society and the Witness

by trevor 11 Replies latest jw friends

  • trevor
    trevor

    Just a poem to cheer you all up. 10 verses. E mail it to a friend!

    The Society and the Witness

    'The time has come' the Witness said,
    'To talk of many things:
    of time - and truth - and old truths -
    of false prophecies - and kings -
    And why Armageddon's still not here -
    And whether dates have wings.'

    The Witness and the Society
    Walked a mile or so,
    And then rested on a Bible
    Conveniently their own:
    And all the other Witnesses stood
    And waited in a row.

    But four young brothers hurried up,
    All eager for the treat:
    Their coats were brushed,Their clothes were clean and neat-
    And this was odd, because, you know,
    It wasn't time to meet.

    'But wait a bit,' the members cried
    'Before we have our chat;
    For some of us are out of breath,
    And not sure we believe all that!'
    'No choice!' The Society said.
    They thanked them very much for that.

    'If seven Elders with seven pens,
    Wrote for half a year,
    Do you suppose,' the Witness said,
    'That we could get it clear?,
    'I doubt it,' the Society said,
    And shed a bitter tear.

    'A new date,' the Society said,
    'Is what we chiefly need:
    Books and magazines besides
    Are very good indeed-
    Now if your ready, Brothers dear'
    We can begin to read.

    'It seems a shame,' the Witness said,
    To play them such a trick
    After we've brought them out so far,
    And made them trot so quick!'
    The Society said nothing but
    'We'll use a bigger stick!'

    The Society looked at him
    But never a word they said:
    The Witness wiped his eye,
    And shook his weary head-
    Meaning to say he did not choose
    To go where they now led.

    'I weep for you, 'the Witness said:
    'I deeply sympathise.'
    With sobs and tears he sorted out
    Books of the laargest size,
    Holding his Watchtower
    before his streaming eyes.

    'O Brothers,' the Society said,
    'You've had a pleasant run!
    Shall we be trotting to the Hall again?'
    But answers came there none-
    And this was scarcely odd, because
    They no longer found it fun.

    Trevor Willis

    Edited by - trevor on 8 January 2001 12:45:4

  • ZazuWitts
    ZazuWitts

    Hits home, Trevor, really hits home!
    Great job, thanks.

  • Simon
    Simon

    I'm impressed...that is very good!
    Thanks Trevor

  • thinkers wife
    thinkers wife

    Nice work Trevor. Does fit.
    TW

  • mommy
    mommy

    I liked that!
    Thanx Trevor:)
    wendy

  • RedhorseWoman
    RedhorseWoman

    Trevor, I have been thinking about this all day. I know this is from Alice in Wonderland.....was it The Oyster and the Carpenter? Please refresh my memory....it's driving me crazy.

    I do, however, like your version MUCH better.

  • trevor
    trevor

    Hello Redhorse woman,

    Thanks for reading my ravings in poem form. The poem is a corruption of an eighteen verse poem from 'Through the Looking Glass' a follow on to 'Alice in Wonderland.'It comes from the chapter 'Tweedledum & Tweedledee. It never had a title but as you said, it was about the walrus & the carpenter and it was the walrus who ate the osters. I used it as a base because I liked the crisp pace of the poem.

    You know a lot of people compare the WT to Georgr Orwells '1984' but I find great similarities with the work of Lewis Carrol. He was one sandwich short of a picnic too. I may pick another poem from his works a have a little more fun. Perhaps I should get out more!
    I enjoy reading all your postings.

    All the Best

    trevor

  • larc
    larc

    Trever,

    I like a poem by Robert Frost: Departmental, about ants, but really about organizations, more prophetic of "The Organization" than the Bible ever was.

  • Frenchy
    Frenchy

    Great job, Trevor.

    larc, why don't you post the poem?

    -Seen it all, done it all, can't remember most of it-

  • larc
    larc

    Departmental by Robert Frost

    An ant on the table cloth
    Ran into a dormant moth
    Of many times his size.
    He showed not the least surprise,
    His business wasn't with such.
    He gave it scarcely a touch,
    And was off on his duty run.
    Yet if he encounter one
    Of the hive's enquiry squad
    Whose work is to find out God
    Ane the nature of time and space,
    He would put him onto the case.
    Ants are a curious race:
    One crossing with hurried tread
    The body of one of their dead
    Isn't given a moment's arrest-
    Seems not even impressed.
    But he no doubt reports to any
    With whom he crosses antennae,
    And they no doubt report
    To the higher up at court.
    Then word goes forth in Formic:
    "Death's come to Jerry McCormic,
    Our selfless forager Jerry.
    Will the special Janizary
    Whose office it is to bury
    The dead of the commissary
    Go bring him home to his people.
    Lay hin in state on a sepal.
    Wrap him in shroud in a petal.
    Embalm him with ichor of nettle
    This is the word of your Qween."
    And presently on the scene
    Appears a solemn mortician:
    And taking a formal postioon
    With feelers calmly atwiddle,
    Seizes the dead by the middle,
    And heaving him high in air,
    Carries him out of there.
    No one stands round to stare.
    It is nobody else's affair.

    It couldn't be called ungentle.
    But how thoroughtly departmental.

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