So...Through a strange warp in time-space, or whatever it takes to set up the story, W. Shakespeare and R.Kipling arrive simultaneously at the pearly gates. Peter explains that there's only room for one additional poet at the time and a competition will have to take place. "Gentlemen," says the gatekeeper, "I'll have to hear a quatrain ending in Timbuktu"

"Mr. Shakespeare, you are first."

"A moment" says the bard, stroking his whiskers," while I choose my rhymes." Shakespeare clears his throat.

"As I lay on shifting sands and dreamed of distant, far off lands, A caravan hove into view, Its destination Timbuktu"

Even Kipling is impressed as he takes a swig of his celestial beer and wipes his mouth on the back of his white ethereal issue robe. " Uh, yeah, right, well"

"Me and Tim a-camping went, And spied three maidens in a tent, They being three, and we being two, I bucked one and Tim bucked two."

That's the way I heard it. Dave.