By: Learnmore Edwin Zvada

Bad and bad ’tis true of that old bloke
In this neighborhood, he remained an estranged fella
The November rains signaled his lengthy ordeal
His memories they were tucked ashore
Somewhere in Cashel valley they say
Such a rare bloke to have made it this far north
And a bit odd; see, his seed seeded these bellied hippies
Now they contrive to harvest my exotic nuts
How the hell am I going to feed Ma Prop’s chickens?
They too seek to spoil my weekly liquor fest
Now they are up my heels down empty swamps
Run I say, make haste with this your life mate!
For what shame is it worth thy cold feet?
‘tis worthless when dear old Jack is socked wet
In this icy blend the heavens shall I appease
Bring us the dead bloke so we can bury him again
His grave at sea we shall dig
Perhaps these dark waters will carry him without reach
Homebound we will make a toast
‘Such an odd bird, shame hey!’