Two British men, cast on a desert isle,
Found themselves faced with quite the trial.
They'd been introduced in jest, both men profound,
Humour their language, quite renowned.
One man was quick, with wit so keen,
A master of the humorous scene.
The other, sly and dry, with humour's grace,
In British tongues, he held his place.
Yet, on this isle, they refused to speak,
Bound by their honour, not one word weak.
They'd been introduced in mirth, oh, what folly!
Now silence reigned, their spirits melancholy.
The first man thought, "To speak, how gauche,
My humour's wasted on this rock."
The other mused, "My words would fall flat,
Amongst these waves, my humour's spat."
Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months,
Their silence grew, like weeds on plinths.
No laughter echoed, no jokes shared,
Their British humour, sadly impaired.
Until one fateful day, a tempest grew,
And as the storm around them threw,
The first man shouted, "I can't bear this strain,
Let's break this vow and speak again!"
The other smiled, his eyes alight,
"Indeed, my friend, let humour ignite.
This island prison shall no longer bind,
Our British spirits, free and unconfined."
And so, they spoke, with laughter and cheer,
Their humour flourished, casting out jeer.
Together they joked, through thick and thin,
British humour reunited once again.
Upon their rescue, the tale they told,
A story of silence, now humour extolled.
A testament to the power of wit,
A lesson in friendship, not to be split.
So raise a toast to the men so grand,
Whose British humour saved the day, firsthand.
For on that desert isle, their spirits soared,
A tale of humour, forever adored.
(Author Unknown)