For Better Or Worst

For contest Sponsored by: (Destroyer ((Poet My worst poem ever The sights and the scenes that you might have seen Will hold no great power or trill When tonight I regale that wondrous tale Of the farmer that lived in Dunhill You lads from Dunhill if only keep still I’ll sing you a verse of a song Concerning a man who I will not name In case that he does to me wrong This man had a farm just outside the town Where he kept 20 head of beef cows 30 sheep and a missus, 2 dozen chickens 5 goats and a saddleback sow Though at times he’d work mostly he’d shirk Leaving all the jobs for his wife Who toiled like a demon from morning till evening And led a lonely and downtrodden life At nights in her room she would sit in the gloom While he up Harney’s pub went He would sit in the bar drinking jar after jar Till all of his money was spent When at last he’d come in he mould make such a din Those above in the graveyard would hear Then he’d fall into bed and lie as if dead While snores assaulted his poor wife’s ears One night this din drove the wife half insane So down to the kitchen she went In the cold and the gloom by the light of the moon A fine plan she began to ferment The dinner next night was spuds, cabbage and meat And a jug of gravy made from the beef While making the stock she added a good drop Of steaming manure from the heap The husband ate up like a half starved young pup Drank the gravy that was left in the jug He belched and he farted and then he departed For another long night in the pub He sat at the bar knocking back the jars Then decided to go empty the bladder When he got to his feet he didn’t feel right And wondered what could be the matter As he took the next step he let one rip And decided that perhaps he should hurry But as he crossed the floor from the stool to the door He left a trail of foul smelling slurry Now down in Dunhill that man lives still With his wife, they make a grand couple For now he is sober and no longer a rover Its years now since he touched the bottle This is all true I assure you I was in Harney’s that night When that man followed through and the air turned blue With a smell like old spuds with the blight The sights and the scenes that you might have seen Will hold no great power or trill When tonight I regale that wondrous tale Of the farmer that lived in Dunhill