Albion of Wonderplace Alpha

Now I will speak of Albion
A never-place now here, now gone;
Travelling in strange devices,
Experiencing history in twices.

Time travel? How absurd,
And it makes you weird (or so we’ve heard).
(Although, we’ll admit to ourselves,
We still prefer them to most Elves.)

In Albion, one wears chapeaux
And goggles, oft, on top of those;
Gears and cogs are not unheard
And “Egads!” is a frequent word.

An aesthetic, or tribal meme,
Some are insane. Some are Punks of Steam.
Some are inexplicable
And of madness, they’re most full.

But, the truth is even sweeter
(Ask Phobos. Ask Demeter.)
In sooth, those of Albion
Are simply those who’re moving on

from:

Places where they can’t be
Laden with peculiarity;
Places where they’re not advised
To be as weird as can be devised.

They come from planets, islands, trees,
From unexplored dark galaxies,
From black holes and the Hollow Earth,
Places of fire. Places of mirth.

Bright Albion! We thou salute
And this note we institute:
When next your denizens we meet
We’ll buy ’em gin ’til they nap in the street.

 

____

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