diki threw a party because he’s getting old,
Attended by his many friends, a marvel to behold.
The venue was a wondrous place upon Fitzwilliam Square,
The cream of Dublin’s roustabouts were in attendance there.

Proceedings were initiated in familiar fashion
Wine and champagne corks were pulled and popped with equal passion.
Arriving guests were welcomed with the raising of a toast
Bestowed upon each person by the cigar wielding host.

Now diki, with a little d, (for so his friends insist),
Contending that against the fates it’s futile to resist
Believe one ought enjoy oneself in all that life affords
And saying so proceeded to indulge his just rewards.

As midnight came and went affairs were only getting started,
It was clear this crowd were neither faint nor feeble hearted.
The revellers made merry in a well-accustomed style,
The racket rising heavenward was heard for mile on mile.

As spiders in the ceiling space, beset by sonic boom
Abandoned their familiar haunts to creep about the room
In search of somewhere more secure to weather out the storm,
They soon located what they sought, a refuge dark and warm.
Retreating quickly through the rising smoke of fine Havana
They knew they’d found their way into arachnidan nirvana.
You see their search for sanctuary from all this sound and fury
Had led them down the cleavage of poor unsuspecting Julie.

Suffice to say that this was not a welcome situation.
If truth be told it was the cause of quite some agitation
Not being one who kindly takes to spiders down her top
Our Julie issued such a scream as caused the room to stop.

Now brave sir diki, knight of old, familiar with this work
Was swift to act and well aware of where the perils lurk.
With deftest hand and practised art, well seasoned in such deeds
He proved the equal of the task and served the maiden’s needs,

And in so doing saved the day, preserving dignity,
Restoring calm to one and all sweet tranquillity,
Thus as it were in days of yore, as oft I’ve heard it said
So was it proved unto this day that chivalry’s not dead?

From the book of poetry Abraxas by Kevin Robinson