The Book of Ages

This poem is about a group of adventurer's who are looking for a book which control's all of recorded history.

Deep in the heart of sunny Australia 
Where the mountains meet and the rivers end 
And dune and forest come to blend 
There sits a house on a little prairie 
With a man inside who's ever so hairy 

He keeps beneath his matted fur 
A bottle of the finest liqueur 
To pass around when guests come knocking 
When hand upon door is rocking 

We knocked three times, He bode us well 
Inviting us in to his earthly dwell 
Where upon a cork did pop 
And on three stools we chose to prop 

We chugged and lugged and glugged and chugged 
As hours past and days flew by 
And jokes were past with wisty wry 

Then one day there came a knocking 
A knocking upon the door was knocking 
Which when opened was quite shocking 
A lady stood in silk white stocking 

She fell into my outstretched arms 
Complaining about her state of qualms 
For in her tightly closen palms 
Were the remains of golden alms 

She spoke of a pirate by the name of Long john 
Who lay past the hill in a place they called Yon. 
He'd met her in china, way back in Xian 
Where she fell for his charm and his dastardly con. 

My bearded friend and my partner in crime, 
Couldn't make heads or tales of this startling rhyme, 
Why was she running, he'd taken his worth, 
Until she began to remove her silk, from around her girth. 

Folded out neatly upon the stone floor, 
Was a map to a mountain with a hidden door, 
That lay not far from our homely quarters, 
Where stood two ancient marble porters. 

The lady who was not in silk, 
Told us what we wished to know, 
But only if she had protection, 
Fully guarded from detection. 

She spoke of a place where time is nil, 
Where nothing exists but a book and a quill, 
A place where all of history resides, 
Surrounded by moonless tides. 

The reader of this ancient book, 
Will know their future flaws and luck, 
And use this knowledge to recast, 
To turn back time and change the past. 

One can only imagine what went through our minds, 
As the wind whistled through the open blinds. 

If Long john got his hands on such a book, 
And used it to reverse his state of schnook, 
The world would change for ever after, 
Doomed to live without laughter. 

We hurried to collect our precious cargo, 
As our theme tune played out in a state of largo, 
My bearded friend, my partner and I, 
Now joined by the lady with the naked thigh. 

We rode off into the sunset to goodness knows where, 
Atop of three horses, unclothed, we daren't stare. 

If this story ends abruptly assume we're all dead, 
We failed to stop Long john and he chopped off our head.