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On burying my dad with his silver-topped cane
Looking down at his corpse, we,the recent bereaved,
Wonder long at the pressure exerted.
At rest with that cane, with which much was achieved
Whene’er he ostentatiously flirted.
A family heirloom, it was widely believed
That in life he had never deserted it.
It was such a damned shame it could not be retrieved
From where my dear mum had inserted it.
Looking down at his corpse, we,the recent bereaved,
Wonder long at the pressure exerted.
At rest with that cane, with which much was achieved
Whene’er he ostentatiously flirted.
A family heirloom, it was widely believed
That in life he had never deserted it.
It was such a damned shame it could not be retrieved
From where my dear mum had inserted it.
I so get it - life has a habit of interfering in the creative process. Anyway, I don't care if you join Mr. Linky. I enjoy your poems, magpie or not! (And don't feel that's an obligation Pete!)
ReplyDelete(Laughing) I can just imagine the poor fella laid to rest on his side.
Peter,
ReplyDeleteIf I laugh any harder It'll be I in the casket.
Just keep writing my friend, you have a talent and a gift; let it flower!
rel
Peter. Love your Irish take on life's absurdities. Gee I have to admit that i can only manage about 20 Magpie's each week. I work full time and my wife thinks I have a secret lover sometimes as I sit here reading and commneting. The magpie's keep me writing each week too. I'll look ut for you on the waht's on pages when next i pass through Dublin (last time was about 8 years ago so don't hold your breath.
ReplyDelete