‘…there he was sat, bold as brass, plain as day,
stone deadpan serious, as if he was my judge.
I ask you!
Bulling on about ‘the great doings & dones’
sounding like a brat bragging about
the darning of the sacred
socks of Nemesis… ‘
In short, one may conclude,
a blow by blow account
of how wind gets out the bag:
why the turtle turns turtle,
and the attributes of the perfect carrot.
It was to his credit that he chose
to demean himself to
the baying hordedlavishers
that dwelt upon every word ,
as if, perhaps, they were his last,
that they would get a mention in the will,
despatches, or the mind of God,
who was in heaven-by-the sea.
‘…By gum, though, he sported lovely, kind, peepers
and one of those whimsical smiles
that always give you a tingle in the dingle.
Herdsman, craftsman, tradesman
it does not matter a bit.
Once you have the twinge you’re gone…’
Apparently, he was also handy with a band saw and spoke shave.
‘…Jesus! He could come smooth me anytime he fancied a touch of craft work. Have a bit of fun, fun, fun on my autobahn.’