To The Immortal Memory
The English have their Shakespeare
Who wrote a word or two
He did a play about a pound
Of flesh claimed by a Jew
Another was about a prince
Of Denmark, o’er the sea
Who clutched a skull and mumbled out
‘To be or not to be
And then there was Macbeth of course
Whose wife, the silly tart
Persuaded him tae stab the King
At night-time through the heart
I read a bit and yawned a lot
A King that thrashed the sea?
Yeah right, precisely what has that
To do with now and me?
Now Jamesie Joyce, an Irishman
Wrote Ulysses I’m told
Something that should evoke the tales
Of Homer, back in old
The Wake, I heard, of Finnegan
Was worth a look or two
The cover didn’t turn me on
I read – no, not a clue
The artist as a young man is
A work of class I’m told
But on the Dublin master’s works
I cannot say I’m sold
And anyway, the guys in Dublin
Don’t regard his birth
As being fit for party date
In any way of worth
America produced a chap
Quite tall, as tall as tree
Or maybe I misread that bit
‘’Twas Longfellow you see
A master of the new world word
I caught the point he made
His poems was wrote for folk like me
I think that’s what he said
But story? Couldn’t see it quite
This Hiawatha brave
I just let oot a chuckly laugh
A Mini-haha gave
That is enough 'bout foreign chaps
No more about the others
I’m keen on works of Scotland’s Bard
And not his writing brothers
So then we have our Robert Burns
A giant of a Scot
Who wrote short words on man and love
Was proud about his lot
In life he saw a pride in warth
He’d hate iniquity
Hoped man to man the world o’er
Would one day brithers be
Such lines, such bold simplicity
And still today alive
Please join in toast to Robert Burns
May his day thrive and thrive
Last edited by Tubthumper; 31-Jan-10 at 13:26.
Reason: It didn't scan!
Working On Behalf Of The Community!
Bookmarks