Magic Roundabout.

12 men washed up on the shore
of an island made of sand and shell
and with them came the wreckage of
the ship from which they fell.

How are we to survive!
thought each man in his horror
for none have useful tools
to keep hunger from the door.

But some fortune had indeed shone
of which at first they were unaware
for with them washed up on the beach
were 11 antique dining chairs.

Hooray! they shouted one and all.
We're saved at last, you see,
for the means of deliverance is at hand
for 12 antique dealers we will be!

So round and round the chairs did sell
and an economy they did create
from nothing they had built an empire
to stave off their cruel fate.

But why do I sit and rhyme
and upon these 12 a tale to dwell?
Well it just occurs to me that these men
a tale of HEMA they do tell.

Round and round the rabid repertoire runs.