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Simon Kerplunkle was his name to many;
A story in and of itself, was he -
To hang from a nail for punishment,
For all of eternity.
Lo, they did not know from whence it had came,
Nor why he never came down;
They plotted and schemed about all sorts of dreams,
But no answer was speedily found.
He hung there for years just telling his tales,
About all the ghosts he had knew.
A pint of ale, he’d say, got him down,
But that lie was never a truth.
Some say he was hung there for taunting the wife,
Of a man that was terribly jealous.
And others say he was the brunt of some crime,
from a fiercely religious old zealot.
But Simon would spin a few tales of his own,
And the whole town would drop by to listen -
To Mr. Kerplunkle, that wily old man,
Who hung there upon his nail, smitten.
One night as they waited, so baited to hear
Another of Simon’s great fables,
He breathed his last breath and the nail rusted out
And he lay there atop of a table.
That dawn the whole town had gone to his grave
To read the last story he’d tell -
The words on a gravestone were deeply engraved
And what a strange sight they beheld.
It said,

                “Here Lies Simon Kerpunkle
                      Who hung on a nail -
               In his final words he did recite:
      ‘It was either I hang here for all of my days
           Or go home and face the mad wife‘.”

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