The sickly old man
There once was a man who lay sick in bed
He could not get up to reach his wooden-leg
He had no maid or family to bid it
So lived a lonely life he did
His wife had died of slavery
His heart did break in a thousand ways
The reason he had no leg is a mystery..
The old man died sadly
Myself did weep a bit
For a sickly man should not die alone
His only friend was me
a little mouse with a family of three
When he pleaded with me to fetch his leg
I could not manage being so small
He said ' it didn't matter anyway,
he was sickly and only had a few hours to live'
It was true that he did
but myself did pray for his soul
He was the kindest old man
with his big heart of gold
Copyright © Silent Poet Sarah | Year Posted 2012
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