There once was a bishop Myriel.
From palace he moved to a cell.
He gave to the poor
his wages and more,
but silverware? What the hell?
Mademoiselle Baptistine -
translucent, her soul was so clean -
once had a thought,
but it was for naught:
speaking out wouldn't be feminine.
There once was a Mrs. Maiglore
surrounded by damn Gryffindors.
"You like alms - I'm aware,
but we COULD use more chairs
and a lock on the frickfracking door."
A girl was once called Favorite.
Reluctant and sad hypocrite,
she hated a dude,
but ran short of food
and flattered him lickety-split.
A man-child, by name Tholomyès,
deceived a girl into a yes.
If she'd known he'd go,
she'd have said tholom no;
he'd be left with his hand to impress.
In the gossip Madame Victurnien,
our world lost an Auguste Dupin.
She could have fought crime
and had a great time,
in a book written by Agatha.
There once was a cop called Javert
who thought the law can’t be unfair.
Say, was the man dense
or just really tense,
in need of some t. loving care?
There was an ex-convict named Jean
who hid from some things he had done.
Someone else got accused,
and Jean mused and he mused:
do the right thing, and bye-bye to fun.
My favorite little white horse
can pull things with marvelous force.
Just give him his oats,
and then, messier, totes,
he’ll go all the way to death’s doors!
The defense of so-called Champmathieu
was pathetic, although not untrue.
“But I am not Jean!
I’ve never been Jean!”:
this rhetoric, not hard to outdo.
There was a young seamstress Fantine
with hair of a fairy-tale queen.
Disgrace ate her whole,
hair, teeth, bones and all,
‘cause having a baby? Obscene!
Watch me try to rhyme things with Grantaire, Pontmercy, Fauchelevent, Louison, and Enjolras (and NOT try with Laigle).
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
A most sceptical student Grantaire
drank with dreamers, to dream didn’t dare.
He remained full of doubt,
but he *was* sure about
needing Enjolras like you need air.
A cinnamon roll Pontmercy
loved flowers and often hugged trees.
He resolved his son’s life
would be rich, free of strife,
but Marius said, “Non merci!”
There was a law student called Laigle
or Meaux (de), Bossuet, and/or Lesgle.
His names will be missed.
They’re all off the list:
no longer a student is Laigle.
The gardener, old Fauchelevent,
played dumb with a skill that strikes awe,
nailed a friend in a casket,
stuffed a kid in a basket,
and saved them, because sod the law.
While working, the dishwasher Louison
walks through the back room of Café Musain.
These boys talk gods, nations,
the Lord only knows what that crew is on!
There was once a pure creature named Enjolras,
one that didn’t want mistress or Ma or Pa.
Old Jean-Jacques was his pal,
native country his gal…
was he born out of sunlight like Amon-Ra?
Feedback makes the world go round.
And I would take requests, just saying. I wouldn't necessarily fill them, but I would take them with glee.
Courfeyrac, Gillenormand, Gavroche, Jehan Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bahorel
Some of these are a bit slandery. For instance, I suppose Courfeyrac only seems VERY interested in girls while he's being contrasted with Marius. Bahorel wanted people to stay out of his egg-eating decisions, but it's not exactly that eggs were forbidden. Gillenormand... well. Being old isn't a bad thing, but the rest is.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
There was a young man Courfeyrac,
whose name, you may note, rhymes with f**k.
As interests go,
his mind fairly lived in the muck.
There was an old geezer called Gillenormand,
and many have wanted to hit the mofo.
He thought people were minions,
and his vocal opinions
belonged way BEFORE… (beat)… or WITH the dodo.
An intrepid young sparrow Gavroche
found a penny; look, now he had dosh!
Found some kids - they could bunk
in the beast with a trunk.
Found a baker. “Now bring the good nosh!”
Jehan, well-read poet Prouvaire,
the one with the flowerful hair –
he loves everyone,
with clouds he has fun
and wears what he fancies to wear.
A poor maker of fans called Feuilly
rants on topics from Poland to Greece.
He got education
to save all the nations,
fix the world just the way it should be.
A loud, dapper young man Bahorel
will not eat what the Church deigns to tell.
On eggs he’s hell bent,
he scoffs at your Lent,
doesn’t care if he’s going to Hell.
Big fan of feedback, not averse to character requests, have a nice day!