"There's been a run on cocktails, Boss; there ain't an ice-worm left.
Yet wait ... By gosh! It seems to me that some of extra size
Were picked and put away to show the scientific guys."
Following Sam James pointer to Robert Service I found the immortal ballad
in question online:
http://www.top.monad.net/~artude/verse/ice_worm.html
"... ice-worms are peculiar to the mountain of Blue Snow.
Within the Polar rim it rears, a solitary peak,
And in the smoke of early Spring (a spectacle unique)
Like flame it leaps upon the sight and thrills you through and through,
For though its cone is piercing white, its base is blazing blue.
Yet all is clear as you draw near - for coyley peering out
Are hosts and hosts of tiny worms, each indigo of snout.
And as no nourishment they find, to keep themselves alive
They masticate each other's tails, till just the Tough survive.
Yet on this stern and Spartan fare so-rapidly they grow,
That some attain six inches by the melting of the snow."
There is much much more, but that is probably the highlight for us
scientific guys and gals. Fans of splendid doggerel will find other
classics of Service's oeuvre at:
http://www.top.monad.net/~artude/service.html
--
Geoff Read <gread at actrix.gen.nz>
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