Dear Son

Written by: harry horsman

Just a few lines I hereby write to let you know
that I, in my entirety am still alive,
care I give, when with pen perceiving you so slow
the words upon these lines, just in time will arrive.
You will not know the house, when you come on back home
twelve month ago the rent we defaulted, so we moved,
which was good for your mother, she’s too old to roam,
while it seems her affair with the rent man, unproved.
I’ve managed to get myself a really good job
having many hundreds of poor sods beneath me,
as greenkeeper, the graveyard grass I cut and swab,
that is when this terrible pain stops in my knee.
Your sister Edna has had a baby this week
not yet found out if baby boy or baby girl,
so don’t know if it’s got a tap to take a leak
or a hands free strikingly attractive pearl.
We both went to the doctor the other day
it’s your mother she is not keeping all that well,
the doctor placed a small tube down her passage way
said “Don’t talk”, I offered to buy, but wouldn’t sell.
Your uncle Raymond drowned last week in a large vat
this full of single malt whisky at the brewery,
workmates tried to save him, but he fought them off, drat,
cremated, fire took days to douse, come floury.
The weather is o.k.; it has rained twice this week
first off for three days, then the other for four days,
then undertaker rang, sounded very bleak
said, “Payment for grandma’s grave, or does not here stays”.
Oh! by the way I was to send you some money
but I forgot to place it in the envelope,
sealed it with kiss, thought you may think that’s funny
till you hear mum gave you to the charity “SCOPE”.

© Harry J Horsman 2012 

the idea is not mine originally, it is
   An adaptation of an Irish letter.