There’s poems – and there’s pomes. The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is a poem.
When I have a little too much to drink, my friends get me to recite my favorite pome from childhood. It always brings joy to my heart and to the hearts of all who hear:
Antonio, Antonio
Was tired of living alonio.
He thought he would woo
Miss Lissamy Lu,
Miss Lissamy Lucy Molonio.
Antonio, Antonio,
Rode off on his polo-ponio.
He found the fair maid
In a bowery shade,
A-sitting and knitting alonio.
Antonio, Antonio,
Said, “If you will be my ownio,
I’ll love you true,
And I’ll buy for you
An icery creamery conio!”
Oh, Nonio, Antonio!
You’re far too bleak and bonio!
And all that I wish,
You singular fish,
Is that you will quickly begonio.”
Antonio, Antonio,
He uttered a dismal moanio;
Then he ran off and hid
(Or I’m told that he did)
In the Antecatarctical Zonio.
* * * * * *
Now that is literchur.