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Poem

My wife and I had planned a camping trip at Doctor’s Creek reserve,
a peaceful place to ease our minds, and a holiday that we deserve
amongst the natural beauty with the Goulburn River flowing past,
and lazing in a deckchair, with now and then a fishing line to caste.

That was our intention, but good intentions sometimes come unstuck,
and thanks to a memory loss, we knew that we were out of luck.
So all the camping plans that we had made, were deferred because a friend
had invited us to her girl’s wedding, and we promised we’d attend.

But this friend of ours; well, we rarely see a lot of her these days,
but it’s just the passages of time that had us going separate ways,
and with the period of absence, had caused, an abnormal shift
after stating to my wife “what shall we offer as a wedding gift?”

My wife pondered for some seconds, and after being deep in thought,
she recalled an inscribed silver tray; a wedding gift that mattered naught,
hidden away inside a cupboard that never saw the light of day,
that should be the ideal wedding gift, and better off out of our way.

But there’s just one little problem here that does need to be addressed.
Our inscription has to be removed, and altered to - from us a guest.
And once this has been done, we’ll attend with one marvellous wedding gift
that looks expensive to the eye, for shining silver gives a lift.

To a silversmith we took the tray to get our monogram removed
and rewritten with the wedded couple’s names, that we have approved,
but the silversmith just shook his head and in a sordid voice he chimes;
“I’m sorry folks, this sort of thing - can only be done so many times.”

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