07-11-2020, 12:17 AM
72
Re: Poetry
Originally Posted by Ciderman
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I found this in an old box of photos and cards. I wrote it for my dad's birthday, 60 years ago, and I have never seen it since that day! In a huge long envelope marked "Third Class Camel Rate", 3 large ink written stamps for "2 Splon".Yer got fassons of fings
Wot good wevver brings
Ana pair a red and blue braces
You've a parrot wot sings
An a fissful a rings
An a toppat ter wear to the races.
I seen in yer garridge
Some high steppin carriage
Wat yer could be seen in the tahn in
Yer never eats porridge
Or similar ollage
But bacon and eggs nicely brownin.
You've cloves in yer wall
What you ain't worn at all
You got trousers wiv dangerous edges
Ya got shoes for a ball
An for walkin an all
Wiv big spikes for the difficult ledges.
We ad a nice pair
Of Orang Utang there
But I see from your barfroom you've got 'em
Then we looked in a lair
Of a white polar bear
But I see in your frig- You are rotten!
Happy Birfday to dad
Happy Birfday to dad
Happy Birfday to dad from his chilluns
We're all very glad
That he's our ole dad
HAPPY BIRFDAY TO DAD FROM HIS CHILLUNS
07-11-2020, 01:47 PM
76
Re: Poetry
I should have posted this last night, to go with Silver Tabby's witch theme, but I couldn't find it. I've managed to conjure it up today, though.The Witch’s Secret
Sunken stones in an ancient wood
mark out where once a dwelling stood.
And here I set out my strange tale
Of the quest to find my holy grail.
Within a ring of giant oaks
once stood a house where darkness cloaks
the ground where only toadstools grow,
and forest creatures will not go.
They say an artful witch lived there,
who hid a formula somewhere
among the ruins of that site.
That place where even day is night.
I heard the story of that place
and went in search to find a trace
of that old secret that was hidden.
To eyes of mortal man forbidden.
I fought through thicket, thorn and bush,
forever onward did I push.
Driven by my blind ambition
to find the witch’s weird prescription.
Suddenly my way was barred
by a ring of trees, all standing guard,
and within my breast my heart did race
from fear of that infernal place.
Yet, on I went into the clearing,
forcing back my dread and fearing
of punishment those trees might wreak.
Forbidden game of hide-and-seek.
Then heaving out a desperate groan
from heaving up a massive stone;
heart thumping wildly in my breast,
I saw the object of my quest.
A wooden casket, rotted away,
yet still protecting from decay,
a parchment furled and rolled up tight,
there, before my wide-eyed sight.
That precious scroll, worth more than gold,
by trembling hands was soon unrolled.
And in my grasp, before my eye:
a recipe for rhubarb pie.
I knelt there on that cold, dank ground,
and from the oaks there came a sound.
A murmur spread from tree to tree,
those accursed oaks were laughing at me.
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