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Er, this is a little er
Er, d- it's not a little thing at all
It's a, it's a narrative poem of some sort with a er, a strong storyline and um wonderful characters.
It's called A Sad Ballad, With A Bit Of Sunlight Here And There
Er, to, to illuminate the sadness.
I remember it as if it were yesterday
The experience I'm about to relate
It happened to me yesterday
As I stood on my own by the gate
I was leaning there watching the sun go down
As I am wont to do
And I thought I saw a lady pass by
Who looked a lot like you
This was somewhat unexpected you know
You being so frightfully dead
As is the usual situation
When the body is clove from the head
As happened to you three summers ago
Walking out on the lawn
When our small son Sam shouted out Daddy
Mummy has upped and gorn
I rushed to the garden surprisingly quick
For a man of my height and my girth
And after I stooped to regain my breath
Your head thudded down to the earth
With a splash where the the blood of your life on the grass
Of your home had formed a small pool
And in front of my eyes your body
Still balancing upright was starting to cool
Sam turned to me and he said dear Papa
Will Mater be all right for dinner?
And I had to be honest with the poor boy
It's time for Mamma to grow thinner
And wither away and turn into dust
And be food for the grubs that would munch
On the flesh that we give to the sod with the death
That occurs so soon after lunch
For then, you remember, it was barely past two
And our luncheon had no time to settle
And you were taking a simple breath of fresh air
Which is said would be aiding your fettle
To be fine as is dandy and I had retired
To the drawing-room with a new pencil
And two sheets of paper to sketch out some visions
I'd had of a brand new utensil
But not a normal or common or garden utensil no
An item of function and beauty
That would aid every man and elderly gent
Of our empire to fulfil his duty
Of being the finest most upstanding subject
The Queen could desire to rule
And all for the modest expense I would charge
To purchase my specialised tool
But my sketch never made its way onto the page
Because just then I heard the voice shout
And he's never cried wolf so I trusted his voice
Enough to follow it out
And you were dead oh my love you were headless and dead
And your dress was no longer white
And I held the small hand of our son in my hand
I thought it would make things all right
A bit of male bonding in the face of the tragic
Indeed we soon became friends
And he shares in my wisdom and I share in his youth
Which is perfect for spotting new trends
And we've designed in my study some marvellous things
That we've sold far and wide to the people
Like a new sort of string and a cosy for vicars
To permanently place on their steeple
So three years have passed by in a haze of production
You'd be proud that we haven't stood still
And I've got married again though I've moved in
With the twins Brian and Bill
And they see to my needs, they feed and they clothe me
Make sure I don't work too hard
And they insist every evening after repast
That we make a quick stroll round the yard
And indeed it was after yesterday's stroll
That I leant on the gate in the dusk
And I caught a faint hint of a scent on the breeze
That was cinnamon mingled with musk
And that lady passed by looking like you
And my heart became empty with loss
And I shed a small tear before going inside
For my usual post-prandial floss
