Sometimes you just feel low
Of our old house it would Keep,
If I accidentally died in my sleep.
The floors won't get swept,
The beds never made.
The washing not done,
There's no surprise there,
I won't turn in my grave.
Will the three of them realize,
There's more to this world,
If they don't curl up and die.
Even if they get up off their ass,
Going outside just to cut the grass.
I'm not just driving miss daisy,
Ex daughter-in-laws dog all around.
But the rest of the tribe,
To the shops in the town.
If I should die happy to be,
It would be the first time in my life,
I'd ever be free.
No need to run to and through,
I could travel around,
Wherever I was wishing to go.
Sometimes I wonder,
When there is just three.
If the meal that was made,
Was done by somebody else.
Not only me.
If I'm not here,
Would they sit down and cry.
Not using their skills,
To even get by.
If I go to heaven,
For me it wouldn't be great.
I'd probably end up,
Having to polish the gate.
Probably I'm feeling,
A little bit brash.
I feel as they treat me,
Like a bit of a rash.
No grave for me,
If I should die.
Just gather me up,
Then throw me out,
With the rest of the trash.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 161 times
Written on 2022-05-15 at 00:17
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HOW I FEEL
I often wondered the secret;Of our old house it would Keep,
If I accidentally died in my sleep.
The floors won't get swept,
The beds never made.
The washing not done,
There's no surprise there,
I won't turn in my grave.
Will the three of them realize,
There's more to this world,
If they don't curl up and die.
Even if they get up off their ass,
Going outside just to cut the grass.
I'm not just driving miss daisy,
Ex daughter-in-laws dog all around.
But the rest of the tribe,
To the shops in the town.
If I should die happy to be,
It would be the first time in my life,
I'd ever be free.
No need to run to and through,
I could travel around,
Wherever I was wishing to go.
Sometimes I wonder,
When there is just three.
If the meal that was made,
Was done by somebody else.
Not only me.
If I'm not here,
Would they sit down and cry.
Not using their skills,
To even get by.
If I go to heaven,
For me it wouldn't be great.
I'd probably end up,
Having to polish the gate.
Probably I'm feeling,
A little bit brash.
I feel as they treat me,
Like a bit of a rash.
No grave for me,
If I should die.
Just gather me up,
Then throw me out,
With the rest of the trash.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 161 times
Written on 2022-05-15 at 00:17
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Griffonner |
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jim |
