Thursday, July 28, 2011

Royal Carpet



Interval time at the Opera House
And I went for a little stroll,
( I think looking for the toilet
Was my immediate goal!)
And I found myself on purple,
Rather like Royalty,
I felt it was too sumptuous
For little old plebian me.
And it crossed my mind
That I'm fortunate,
To live in a modern age,
In which luxury is everyday,
When my ancestors walked on beige.
By that I mean that they were 'working class'
Through most of history,
Doffing their caps to 'the masters'
With due humility.
Signing their names with 'crosses'
And always 'knowing their place',
For I fear there's not one speck of grandeur
That I am able to trace!
Yet I can 'walk on purple'
And live (almost!) like a King!
No wonder this day at the Opera House,
Made my middle-class heart start to sing!



Though I admire the elegant moth
In the coffee-art above,
I really hate the awful froth
That others seem to love!
Bubble-baths I also hate
(I'd rather have a shower)
The froth I cannot contemplate;
It really makes me cower!
When coffee-drinking is my aim
I want the rich brown brew!
That pallid stuff is rather lame
And cold and floppy too!
It lingers round my upper lip
And wetly hits my nose.
The lingering traces start to drip,
Unattractive, I suppose!
Likewise at bath-time it's the same
The bubbles grow all chilly,
The body-parts I dare not name
Start freezing, willy-nilly!
Give me clear water, deep and hot,
With a uniform immersion!
And coffee will not hit the spot
Unless it's the froth-less version!

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