Tuesday, September 25, 2007

A Valediction Forbidding Mourning




Charles Tombe lost his wife;
the black angels swoop and drag.
His Rose, the flower of his life,
has strangled on a plastic bag.

A goat, she was his complement;
a truer heart was never born,
and he was never so content
as when he took her by the horns.

Her face was all an impish smile,
her sweetness brightened all his days,
at night she warmed their domicile
with her endearing, woolly ways.

Their love had been discovered by
her former owner in his field,
and in Sudan that means you tie
the knot: the banns were quickly sealed.

A modest dowry was assessed
by the local judge who married them;
their marriage vows were duly blessed
by clergy, law, and cherubim,

and all went well for Charles and Rose,
though life was hard and times lean,
would still be well had not her nose
been drawn to polyethylene.

But do not mourn for gentle Rose,
nor Charles, who’s not a man to worry,
all earthly things come to a close,
and she became a lovely curry.

9 comments:

Minx said...

Oh joy, this is fabulous and all apparently true?
I shall be laughing all day.....

Roberta said...

~~~all earthly things come to a close,
and she became a lovely curry.~~~

She did?? Really!
This is great!

John said...

True. All too true.

Anonymous said...

Is that our gal Rose, in fishnets and red heels? She's a beauty and I bet the curry was delish.

John said...

Anon, disgression forbids...

Absolute Vanilla (and Atyllah) said...

How do you do it?! Absolutely brilliant! Well, I suppose they did always say the way to a man's heart was through his stomach - and so dear Rose did her job well.

John said...

Abs, I wish I'd thought of that. Too right.

Debi said...

Certainly currying favour with this delicious morsel. *ouch*

John said...

And selde heo is icoureyd wel...