Though his thinking will be
‘thank you God, it ain’t me, ‘
it’s a taste of the final Good-Bye.
It’s from kindnesss that this is just so.
We all know that we WILL have to go.
But to make for less fuss
He does break it to us
in instalments, as quid pro quo.
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I knew of course, one starts
Each step gives you a little joltas if to jog the memories now gone,the sound is barely thereand I control it as I have to hearthose voices of my little gnomeswho will, of that I’m sure,jump off my skin just like the rats they areand watch the ship go down withouta shred of glory, see…
So, what do you want my man?
To you, I’m an also ranlet me now reveal my plan:I ban, I ban and I ban,quite simply because I can.
All prunes are plums
the sound of drumsand healthy tunesis just a side effect, a signand its significance benign.So let your grandpa chew his prunesbetween his battle-hardened gumshe’s left behind so many moonsand as he sits and gently hums,he feels the prunes slip down the lineuntil it’s time, for rise and shine.A poem talking of the gutswould be of…
He was humongous at that.
quite appropriate, if perhaps unkind.Yellow Cab had to, orders from up high,dumped him, reluctantly, friendly fellow,popular with colleagues, accommodating.Customers would ask, wait in a queue,stash own luggage, infirmity rules.The Tuesday, when the mongrel was re-electedhe was ‘VIPping’ down the Santa Ana,precious cargo on board, ‘scarecrow’,name bestowed upon, now passenger.Big Chevy Caprice, five pimply Latinos,crowding and…
A God, in a position to do so
quite attractive and desirable.It turns out to be freeand has no strings attached.So, I declined.I may bestow –but never welcomeCHARITY.
A man who really was a clone
He could not get a dial tonenor did the little fellow owna musiclover’s saxophone.The reason for this is well knownhe had a broken knucklebone.He judged that he would now postponethe urgent call to Yellowstone.Instead he used Eau de Cologneto whip up his testosterone.Alas, so sad. He was alone.