dafydd manton
08-27-2010, 06:21 PM
Life in the Asylum.
I sit here, in my lonely cell, feeling less than merry,
Listening for the rattle on the pipes that will be Jerry
He's got a bent and battered spoon
That's pretty good at Morse.
Good, of course, but not as good as me
He sits and writes his poetry, sometimes uses rhymes
He's stooped as low as using capitals, sometimes,
He writes them to the patron
Then hands them on to Matron.
Sometimes writ in orange juice, and sometimes done with limes.
We try to take our meals each day at the same old beer-stained table
But then it can be difficult as Delta, when she's able,
Fills the pockets of her jeans
With tons and tons of cold baked beans
And insists on calling poor old Jerry "Mabel".
Sometimes, though, the madness of them makes one somewhat chary
Delta looks at Jerry and she calls him "Mister Hairy"
The situation's really getting bad,
The lot of them are acting slightly mad
And we haven't even mentioned poor old Mary.
Mary is the only one amongst us that's half sane
(She's also rather pretty, whilst old Jerry's rather plain.)
I hadn't had the time, so then I felt a
Comment would be good about our Delta
But then I'd have to mention Missy Mary once again.
So we carry on our lunacy in manners quire undaunted,
They say that we are strangem but our genius is vaunted
But to make a goodly quorum
To discuss our dearest Forum
We've built a special cell for our little darlin' Haunted.
This poem can be read, or you may put it to a tune.
It's all about the institute we call "The Singing Loon"
It's of Haunted, Mr. Hairy.
Delta40 and dear Mary
And of course, the most important, Jerry's spoon.
I sit here, in my lonely cell, feeling less than merry,
Listening for the rattle on the pipes that will be Jerry
He's got a bent and battered spoon
That's pretty good at Morse.
Good, of course, but not as good as me
He sits and writes his poetry, sometimes uses rhymes
He's stooped as low as using capitals, sometimes,
He writes them to the patron
Then hands them on to Matron.
Sometimes writ in orange juice, and sometimes done with limes.
We try to take our meals each day at the same old beer-stained table
But then it can be difficult as Delta, when she's able,
Fills the pockets of her jeans
With tons and tons of cold baked beans
And insists on calling poor old Jerry "Mabel".
Sometimes, though, the madness of them makes one somewhat chary
Delta looks at Jerry and she calls him "Mister Hairy"
The situation's really getting bad,
The lot of them are acting slightly mad
And we haven't even mentioned poor old Mary.
Mary is the only one amongst us that's half sane
(She's also rather pretty, whilst old Jerry's rather plain.)
I hadn't had the time, so then I felt a
Comment would be good about our Delta
But then I'd have to mention Missy Mary once again.
So we carry on our lunacy in manners quire undaunted,
They say that we are strangem but our genius is vaunted
But to make a goodly quorum
To discuss our dearest Forum
We've built a special cell for our little darlin' Haunted.
This poem can be read, or you may put it to a tune.
It's all about the institute we call "The Singing Loon"
It's of Haunted, Mr. Hairy.
Delta40 and dear Mary
And of course, the most important, Jerry's spoon.