The Tale Of Benjamin Drake

This is the Tale of poor Benjamin Drake

A famous geologist killed by a snake

As a child he’d amassed a collection of rocks

They were labelled with care and stored with his socks

In the bottom most drawer of the chest in his room

And who would have thought they’d soon spell his doom?


Not for him the electrical toys of his peers

The other kids teased him with insults and jeers

Yet despite all the setbacks his collection had grown

And soon it demanded a drawer of its own


After school,  there was college where Ben studied hard

And his spare time was spent finding rocks in his yard

He’d no interest in girls,  all his dates were disasters

He obtained his degree and in no time,  his Masters


He soon got a job to fulfil all his dreams

A French expedition was sending down teams

To the Indian Ocean and through the sea floor

They’d set up a drill,  make a hole to the core

Through the serpentine rock in the mantle they’d go

And explore the Earth’s secrets far down below


After six years of labour,  of drilling and dust

They reached their objective,  got down to the crust

The serpentine split with an almighty crack

Throwing the team from their feet to their back

With slack jawed amazement they witnessed the birth

An enormous red snake which came from the earth

With wide open jaws and coils wound tight

It swallowed up Benjamin whole in one bite

And then turned around and vanished from sight

Then the gap in the serpentine sealed up tight


The scientists waited all night and all day

But what became of Benjamin,  noone can say

The project was cancelled,  the drilling it ceased

The site of the tragedy blessed by a priest

Benjamin hasn’t been seen since that day

And where the snake came from,  no one can say

Though his story’s a sad one,  the moral’s quite plain

Don’t use your hobbies for personal gain.


About Marie

An eccentric & quirky artist and writer who fills her time between fantasy roleplaying sessions with painting, writing and playing her guitar (rather badly). Usually to be found with paint-stained fingers surrounded by books and tubes of acrylic paint.
This entry was posted in Poem, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s