after A. A. Milne
Somebody was not a bad man -
He had his little ways.
He liked to chat the ladies up
For days and days and days.
But some were not indulgent
When strolling in the town,
Gave him a supercilious stare
Or passed with noses in the air
And Somebody was hurt right there,
Beneath his balding crown.
Somebody was not a bad man -
He had his hopes and fears.
His youth was flitting fast away,
He counted up his years.
And so approaching Christmas
The ladies stood about -
Curvaceous, cuddly, lov-e-ly,
Sipping at their lemon tea,
Feeling strangely motherly;
He’d hung his...er...stocking out.
Somebody was not a bad man -
He’d had his wicked will
Of ladies handsome, plain or fat -
So was he o’er the hill?
He thought of Chrissie presies
He’d like beside his bed
And wrote them down with arty pen,
Checked the spelling now and then,
Said he’d like them now not
then
And signed it humbly ‘Ed’.
F.C. - first music,
And I want some money,
Some drawing pens, acrylic paint,
Varnish - fairly runny;
I don’t mind poetry,
I do like wine,
And I should like some chocolates
-
All of them mine;
And oh, Father Christmas, if you
love me at all,
Give me a big, red, india rubber
ball!
Somebody was not a bad man -
One morning when the sun
Rose up to tell the waiting world
November wasn’t done,
From dreams of dalliance he rose
( ’Twas just before the kiss)
And knew that something was awry,
Tears of pain bedewed his eye,
This Somebody said: ‘Why can’t I
Have things wrong with my toes?’
He looked towards his underwear -
There were no presies there.
‘I said I’d take delivery now,
F.C.; it isn’t fair!’
He waited for the doctor,
A prey to hopes and fears:
‘I think that’s him a-coming now,’
(anxiety bedewed his brow)
‘ ’Twill be a knife job, anyhow -
’Tis my advancing years.’
‘Forget about the music,
Forget about the money,
Forget the varnish, pens and
paints -
This really isn’t funny.
I’ve gone off poetry,
I’ll give up wine,
I’ll give the chocolates away -
I feel just fine.
But oh, Doctor Wilson, if you love
me at all,
I’ve quite got over wanting a big,
india rubber ball!’
Somebody was not a bad man -
And neither was the Doc.
He gave Somebody potions,
Said: ‘Why not wear a frock?’
As Someone sat recovering,
He was not chuffed at all -
He felt he was in limbo
As he kept his knees akimbo,
While every passing bimbo
Asked about his big, red ball.
And oh, Father Christmas
My curses on you fall
For bringing Ed the wrong
Big, red and india rubber ball!
(November,
1992)
