Uncle was a spelunker
drove to the caves
in his clunker
(it was quite the junker)
without a sound
he sunk underground
pitch black as night
and on his hat
a bright white light
(the switch it was waterproof)
to see which stalagmites
might reach the roof
where stalactites
clung on tight
unafraid of bats
flitting around
never flunking
Uncle loved going down
but sorely and sad to say
on one of those getaways
a painful cluster of bad carbuncles
curtailed Uncle's spelunking days
Growing up that age,we‘ve grown out
Of mothers bosom into streets,
With sown leather that bounces
Up and down among us,
Gone far and wide, swimming in lakes
Of Spirogyra green and tea brown water,
Caught the silvery tilapia and slippery heels as game,
And sold them for bread,
Self inflicted hungered, afflicted;
Though large ladles were waiting,
The rowdy rascal would returned
With impunity and stumped to their leftover;
And Shepherds echoed and neigh expressed
Our wandering out and about.
Now that we 've outgrown,
We have left such things that made a lad again,
And looked toward the future
When we would be father-like
To little ones,
We shall spit out and bellow nothing to naughty
While to them the beds they would lay,
And dose and dream of carbuncles, sapphire and crystal rocks,
Floating oarless in the breeze of aquamarine riches
And falling into bottomless abyss,
Till clock crow it is soon morning,
And woke with tears all stick up to faces,
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