They Buried her Last Tuesday

You may recall my mentioning another acquaintance, “Shakespeare” Smith, an unsuccessful playwright who lived at Horton Bank Top. He told me he had given lots of thought to his name, and wanting to try something different – song writing, he would adopt another. Many passed through his mind like Irving Australia, Amadeus Wagner, but nothing seemed right until he finally decided on Sullivan O’Gilbert. Anyway, this is his latest attempt. He is just trying to find someone to write the music.

‘Twas by the old Rustic Bridge
on the day I met you
You’d broken your crutches
And your good eye was blue.

You’d a wart on your nose
And a boil on your chin
Your front teeth were missing
And you were incredibly thin.

Your hair somewhat sparse
And that was dyed black
But not quite as noticeable
As the hump on your back

Tears on your cheeks
I asked why you cried
“I can’t help it” you said
“My pet dog just died”.

But I married her anyway
Though she was sick and unhealthy
And I’m very happy
She’s exceedingly wealthy

She was buried last Tuesday
And now is no more
She was carried out feet first
Through the front door.

Maybe I’ll miss her
Now she’s gone off
And in my dreams hear
That terrible cough

I’ll remember her fondly
For all that I got –
Two houses in London
A Rolls Royce and a yacht

Some oil wells in Texas
A villa in Crete
A stud farm in Ireland
And a fishing boat fleet

I can’t stay here talking
All’s done and said
I’ve my packing to do
I’m crusing the Med.

–OoOoO–

© Colin Flanagan, 1998

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