FIONA

                                   

        

        Fragile, unexpected flower

        In perfect bloom of womanhood

        Never gathered, unsuspected

        Of all God's glories you have grown

        Alone in all the garden

THE SONG OF THE WOODEN-LEGGED MAN

                                          

They said I had a wooden leg,

They said I should not hurry,*

But I got up and out of bed –

For nothing would I tarry.

 

“Where do you go?” they said.  Said I

To fight for King and Country.

I go to take my wooden leg

To bash the evil en’my.

 

“How did it hap, this awful wound,

How did it come upon thee?

How was it that your leg fell off

And why is it you hurry?”

 

‘Twas on a foul and stormy night

The wind blew wild and scary

The wind it blew my kneecap off

And made my leg hang loosely.

 

It came to pass upon that hill

You see a mile before me.

I tripped and fell – my leg snapped off

And rolled down to the valley.

 

I could not walk, I could not run

And barely could I hurry –

I came upon a left leg shop

And into it did sally.

 

“We can do nothing for you” said

Th’assistant wild and hairy

“We have no left legs left in stock -

There’s been a run on lately.”

What can I do? I cried. Quoth he

“Try Woolworths in the valley.”

 

I spent the night beneath the sky

So shining bright and twinkly,

And in the morn I made my way

To Woolworths in the valley.

 

‘Twas there I met the fair young maid

Who served me smiling sweetly

(Though some of you may doubt these words

And think them most unlikely,

I had to put them in to rhyme

For this, you see, is poetry!)

There ‘twas the fatal purchase made

At Woolworths in the valley.

 

Complete again, I travelled home

As fast as I could carry.

The sun came out and shined on me

To make my journey merry.

 

As hotter still and hot it got

I travelled less less speedy,

Till came I to a shidd’ring stop

And slipped on something sticky.

 

I gazed me down and looked around

Upon the ground beneath me,

Nowhere to see my bright new leg

But only puddle sticky.

 

I laughed, I cried, I tore my hair,

I saw at once they’d fooled me.

No wonder now my leg was cheap –

A plastic leg they’d sold me!

 

I cut myself this wooden leg

From a passing friendly oak tree

And came to where you see me now -

But further I must journey.

 

For now you see why go I must

Forthwith – I may not tarry,

For honour must be satisfied

At Woolworths in the valley.

 

 

RTR 16.03.70

 

 

*They said it would not carry (me)