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| Revised Edition: Includes added bitterness. |
Hail fellow heritage truffle hunters!! Are we not all poets? Do we not record the steady metre of the soil, measure the rhythms of the past and after all that is done, write the report in rhyming couplets?
Okay, maybe YOU don't - but bear with me while I try and shoehorn this posting into a legible position . . . Ahem.
Correspondence between Rudyard Kipling and Emily Dickinson has proved beyond reasonable doubt that they were both archaeologists!! It seems Rudyard set up the first private archaeological company and Emily on completing her BA wrote to him looking for a job . . .
Because I sadly have no work
Will you give work to me?
Will you give work to me?
I have dug a flower bed
And done some C.P.D.
And done some C.P.D.
With wiry limbs - and all my teeth
My friends say I'm quite plucky,
And I will gladly trade my youth
To get my clothing mucky.
Your company is to heritage,
(I've heard declaration,)
Like the kamikaze is
To prudent aviation.
Emily D.
P.S. - I adore your French Fancies!
- - - - - - - -
If you can work in a trade with wages like a hobby,
If you can toil in places swine would christen slobby,
If you can go myopic when bulldozers penetrate,
And after that doff your cap to shallow men of state;
If you can spend a fortnight in a stinking, sinking hole
And follow those two weeks with a six-month on the dole;
If you can cross thy shapely legs bereft of vital crapper,
You can use the ditch you know! (And wipe with sandwich wrapper.)
And after that doff your cap to shallow men of state;
If you can spend a fortnight in a stinking, sinking hole
And follow those two weeks with a six-month on the dole;
If you can cross thy shapely legs bereft of vital crapper,
You can use the ditch you know! (And wipe with sandwich wrapper.)
If you have not a care for those who share your labour,
And through dumbest silence show your employer favour
When he picks upon those workmates and rubs them on his bottom
And only mutter in your head -I wish someone had shot him;
If you desire to see yourself ignored and in a pit,
Your years of education valued less than shit,
Then I shall give you work - the sort that makes you hurl,
But we don't pay for sick bags - because it's P.P.E. my girl!
(and therefore your own responsibility)
Mr. Rudyard Kipling (a.k.a. Mr. Backyard Fondling.)
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| THE SACK OF SHIT. |
Oh Jaysus let's have a ould tune to cheer us up. Press HERE please!
Until we meet again Mein Mucky Meisters.
