Uncle Helium Meets His Maker
He was born at a quarter to three
His father was Dutch and his mother was Cree
No-one saw him amounting to much
His uncle at sea with no legs and a crutch
Westward Ho! and a bottle of rum
Each man's wife is another man's mum!
She gave birth at a quarter to four
The midwife was old and the doctor was sore
No-one bothered to think up a name
Nobody knew he would gain so much fame
Westward Ho! and a keg of vermouth
I'd give up my life to recapture my youth!
And so he did, at a quarter to five:
He learned how to drink and he learned how to jive
Nobody cared when he smashed up the place
Leaving fresh birth-marks all over his face
Westward Ho! and a hogshead of ale
Sent as a salve for this sorrowful vale!
He went home at a quarter to six
And rebuilt the walls using beetroots for bricks
No-one could think why the starlight shone through
Glinting the purply trickle of dew
Westward Ho! and a firkin of stout
Nothing within us and nothing without.
He fell into bed at a quarter to seven
One leg in Wiltshire, the other in Devon
No-one knew if he'd last through the night
Could his corpuscles still fight the good fight?
Westward Ho! and a quart of champagne
Blended from gossamer, twilight and rain
He died in his sleep at a quarter to nine
Muttering nothing devout nor divine
No-one found out for a fortnight or more
But all had admired him - to that they all swore
Westward Ho! and the vessel is drained
- We've nothing but scorn for the fools who abstained
|Contributors:||TG, P, Roland|
|Poem finished:||31st March 2000|