There appears to be a wildebeest,
In my head, stampeding,
Bouncing off the walls
And generally misbehaving.
It must have been there hiding
In that cask of Old Peculiar
- It’s like a cow, you see,
but around the front its woolier -
You say you have one, too?
Then surely there were two!
Squashed inside that cask of Old…

… Peculiar, wouldn’t you say?
A brace of wildebeesties hiding in a common barrel?
Can it be right in any way?
Two bovines, riled and yeasty, biding at their frothing peril?

I merely raise the question -
(Please reserve your rapt attention)
For I feel I must make mention
In regards the contradiction
Of scale!
That one simply cannot fail appreciate
Is somewhat inappropriate,
Tangentially unfortunate,
And quite outside the pail.

Oh for Heaven’s sake, restrain!
This infernal wildebeest,
(Will its ramblings never cease?)
It robs my head of peace, you see,
Besets my addled mind with ill refrain, indeed…

But perhaps…
If I simply introduce another…?
To the confines of my noggin…?
The squeeze will hold their hooves and horns quite fast,
And quench this cranial flogging?

One more cask of Old Peculiar!
- Aye, that draft that made a fool o’ ya -
For the only thing to cure ya,
Are the horns of the beast that gored ya!

(The moral of this ditty,
The themes between the lines,
Contemporaneously,
Quite slip the author’s mind.)