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This is the tale of the gentleman who wore a trilby hat .
He spoke  Uhum, to himself ,
and muttered things under his breath .
His dress was smart ,
but casual ,
and so the ladies would agree ,
‘What a strange man ,
yet he looks so dapper ,
I wish he would speak to me ‘

Now some of the larger girls grinned and smirked as he went on his merry way ,
he doffed his hat ,
and that was that as he passed them on his way .

He walked home ,
Key in the door ,
‘ hi dear I’m home once more ‘
to no answer came ,
he took off his hat ,
Placed it on a hook on the wall ,
took off his coat ,
and placed it on a coat rack ,
took off his shoes ,
changed into his pjs and slippers ,
and sat down .

His grammar phone played the laughing police man every hour  of every day

It just wouldn’t go away .
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha !
stuck in the groove
Ha ha ha ha ha ha !
Have you heard the tale of Lord  Gusstaff and all the good things he did ?
Did you hear in his chambers ,
or the choristers of the night ,
how he charmed the ladies ,
how they flocked to his side ?
His moustache was long and elegant ,
so dashing for the time .

Now every door was open when he passed by ,
and white flowers of the day were placed where every pritty he lay in the long dark reaches of the night .

For when the birds began to sing ,
their tones  pitch perfect would sing just for him ,
just for Gusstaff. the good .

The ladies pouted like flamingos all around ,
his tales of bravery they listened and were captivated by his stare .
For his eyes were dark ,
his manor took wind to their sail .

How Nobel were his deeds ,
and loving and bold ,
not once were his lovers bitter ,
or cold .

Then one night ,
the bells fell silent ,
and the wind whistled as if in silent prayer ,
a vesper of the night ,
Gusstaff lay dying in a field of war his white shirt stained in blood ,
His dying words how brave ,
how brave ,
Leave a white flower for the ladies ,
to each one ,
I loved
let them place a flower in my grave ,
for where the petunia grows his love still flows ,
and flamingo s still surround them ,
and ladies weep  their hearts forever fountains,
In memorials to Gusstaff the good .

Take heed then as the Fox makes Love in the night ,
Vixens will follow ,
and his ghost still screams out for love.
I always said she had too much coffee and cake ,
her portly shape was due to too much wine ,
and now all she craved was a good time.

I always said the cigars she smoked were like
Tomb stones ,
to blind to notice,
to addicted to care .

I always said ,
I always said .

And her heart only beat to climb the stairs ,
and the chocolate and chips helped her through the day .

Rainbows and demons ,
Chains and weeds ,
and the wind and rain ,
and the rain and the wind found us on our knees .

Spoh koyn nee noh Cheh dorogoy , ( good night my dear ) for
I shall navigate my love under a starry host on my ship of jesters and
Fools .

You’re cigars and cake are the rainbows and demons ,
and chains and weeds to our love ,
For you’re laughter for our foolish freedom came not from God above .

Must I then take the ash and crumbs and the yellow **** you retch ,
and hope what’s left does not choke you .

We shall marry in our Geogian satire of smokin mirrors , gin and Russian roulette ,
I will play the doctor ,
You the patient.
Our babies will smoke cigars from their Georgian prams ,
Wine ,cigars , chocolates and cake I shall spoon feed you ,
.....until you’re dead .

For you’re chains and weeds have killed you ,
and death has taken you away .

And here at our table I shall sit alone ,
thinking of you .
With wine a cigar ,
Chocolate cake and a cigar I shall toast you ,
until this day ,
draw a curtain ,turn off the lights .
Sweet dreams my malen kaya kroshka
( my little crumb )
sweet dreams .
Not that I care or mind, but
True love seems hard to find.
Time was...
      You found a pretty girl,
      Made her your wife,
      Took care of her,
      And were happy for life.
Couples looked out for each other,
Nowadays they just fight one another.

I remember watching my mother
Standing by my father's grave.
Tall, black-veiled and brave -
Then she suddenly collapsed,
- A column of tears.
At least she got fifteen years.
Remorse?  Maybe - of a sort.
Probably just annoyed she got caught.

The last fruit and vegetable shop closed today ,
part of Ashford has gone away ,
next door to the church for fifty years ,
Dave and Jim and Brian will never get old .
Vegetables with no cling film ,
or selefane wrapping ,
Mushrooms as large as you’re hand ,
Kale in bundles not sold in plastic bags ,
Plumbs prunes and potatoes.
Peaches apples and pears ,
purple brocole all tied in a bundle ,
all sold in brown paper bags .

The fish man arrived once a week ,
Where from Grimsbys shores we bought . .

The bells rang out on Sundays,
Where at Christmas,
Trees would be bought ,
Lined one by one  .

So tomorrow the supermarket s will becon ,
with their plastic wrapping and plastic bags ,
So spare a thought for the fruit and veg ,
With no plastic wrapping and celefane veg ,
the old shop where the community shed a tear ,
for Ashford’s last fruit and veg ,
has been and left here .

Last night I saw a picture ,
from 1910 ,
yes  I guess they were still there way back then .
My dear , won’t you take my hand and walk in Corn meadows ,where no one can find us .
Won’t sweet tomorrow’s day find it’s way in you’re eyes ,
I will protect you from the noon day sun that burns you’re skin .For one rain drop fell onto you’re nose ,
and yet you laughed when you took my clothes!
Then I in sweet caress ripped off you’re dress .,
Just then another rain drop fell touching you’re breast .
Then you took my hand and danced as one by one each rain drop ,
touched you’re hair.
and another,
then another ,
and soon dark clouds had gathered ,
as we waited for the downpour.
How we wanted the rain to drench us ,
like two bedraggled cats awaiting milk ,
It never came .
There  we were the two of us ,
waiting for the rain ,
that never came.
In dreams I have delighted in you ,
now my heart is found ripped in two ,
by you’re icey stare ,
and olive eyes ,
and sharpened breath from which know no lies .

For the manacles we made were but a monkey in our heads ,
For flowers I must give and on this bridge I wait ,
nothing but bird song and the sounds of the waters below .

The rushing of the wind ,
tbe pale sun dims ,
the evening primrose fades ,
as in memories of you in the twilight ghosts of the fireflies wait ,
for you .
I shall wait until the  darkness clears ,
for many a night I have waited here ,
and though another mans love you pine ,
you’re love will be forever mine .

My blood how it mingles in the cold flowing water ,
for I kept my promise ,
Red waters for red roses ,
and a blood red sunrise ,
When the morning breaks ,
Pritty poses !
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