The man was big, and I am small,
his looks were mean, his face grew grim;
and yet I felt no fear at all,
I truly wasn't scared of him.
My wife thought I was far too brave,
insisting, "Let's get out of here!
You're better not to fight this knave—
it's nothing but pot-valour, Dear."
But I knew best, for I am tough;
I challenged him out on the heath.
Just one good punch was quite enough—
has anybody seen my teeth?
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Author Notes
pot-valour (n.) courage or boldness induced by drinking.
I swear, it's not me. It's the book making me look like a drunken bum with all these words!
My much-treasured Christmas present for 2017 is a book by Paul Anthony Jones: "The cabinet of linguistic curiosities". Each page contains a descriptive story about some obscure or archaic word. It occurred to me it would be a fun exercise to try and write, each day, a poem featuring the "word of the day" from the book.
Thanks for reading.
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