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For Better Or Worst

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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

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