In times gone by, the days were hot, The nights were freezing cold, Men live in caves, burn wood for warmth, And gals do what they're told. You see then fellas, true this ain't, for woman's far too clever, But let's get on with this long tale, Or we'll be here forever. The king of ice, and river queen Had seven daughters fair, The light of dawn was in their eyes, And ice glints in their hair. These seven beauties roamed the earth, And might be roaming yet, Had some bad fella filled with lust Not caught two in a net. He took the pair back to his cave, Tried warming their desire, By feeding them hot wombat soup Whilst sat before the fire. He had not one jot of success To thaw their frigid glaze, Instead the ice flakes in their hair When melting quenched his blaze. Their beauty thus was lessened, And so the useless jerk Abandoned hopes of coitus And put the girls to work. Each night they'd see their sisters, who Were stars now, in the sky, And beckoned to them, causing thus The earth-bound pair to cry. They wailed and wept and whimpered As lonely there they stood, Till matey, having borne this noise Enough, yells: "Go get wood. "Though you're as cold as penguin's' chuffs And don't mind cold wet feet, Ineed more fuel for this fire, for cooking, light and heat." So off the pair went, foraging, And though now not so pretty As once, they melt the wooden heart, Of one tree, which feels pity... And as with other things, on sight Of pretty girls, stood high And reached its towering trunk and boughs Until it touched the sky. The tree they scaled, like beanstalk Jack But found no ogrish thing, With sisters five they reunite, And happily they sing. The Pleiades they call them now, You'll see them of a night, You'll see five lustrous sparkling stars, And two that aren't so bright. And though I've not the wit or time, To tell, you'll also find, Two further stars, who once were men, And to the girls were kind. They listen as the sisters sing In siren-sweet accord, For one is now Orion's belt, The other one his sword. A moral? Well, if gals are cold, But for 'em you feel lusty, I fear that lust they soon will quench, Your sword will go all rusty. Unless, old son, you're super rich They'll spurn all your advances, So go for those who're warm and keen, And much improve your chances. (From an Australian Aboriginal Legend.)
Monday, October 17, 2005