Wednesday 23 December 2009

The Sad Tattle of the Man-Mer (a Rubaiyat)


"I stink of fish," the young man said
"a bath, I think, and thence to bed"
and with these words he went upstairs
where he preferred to lay his head.

I watched him go, though no one dares
to tell him of the people's stares
as he performs his daily chores
with not a hint of worldly cares.

A village such as this has bores
who poke and prod at shuttered doors
that should remain forever barred
against the gossip merchant wars.

The young man's life is extra-hard
thanks to the actions of a guard
who dallied long with herring red
and made his son a half-pilchard.
_________________

6 comments:

aims said...

Oh dear. What a sad and dangerous life. One wouldn't want to get around a hot frying pan by mistake would one?

Rachel Green said...

*laughs*

A little nonsense poem ;)

spacedlaw said...

Poor lad. Great nonsensical work.

Unknown said...

Echoing Nat. I liked this rather a lot!

BT said...

That is very funny - love it.

Rachel Green said...

Thank you!