Above the heavens and starry sky.
Rincewind and his monkeys fly.
Ever creeping with their spoons.
High above the waxen moons.
One, then two they take to flight.
Into the dreary, cloudy night.
Where to go? They do not care.
Safe they go to monkeys lair.
Monkeys playing spoons in tune.
While flying in the darkened gloom.
You ask how so? The monkeys fly?
I do not know, nor question why.
The splendor of the sultry scene.
Rincewind and his spoons do seem.
To have the night in their command.
For monkeys 1 and 2 do stand.
And fight with knives now in the square.
They dance and waive fists in the air.
Grinning, snarling monkeys fight.
Swinging knives to left and right.
Swoosh and stab the monkeys round.
They circle and stomp the dusty ground.
Knife blood red from monkey wound.
Tears, blood mixed, Rinso swooned.
To see the precious monkey bleed.
He will live, that be the creed.
No monkey should ever take a life.
Of monkeys when they fight with knife.
Recommended Reading:
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Dream Fiction 
