It was only the other day you fell asleep in your old chair
The one that was in your front room decades ago
You didn't see Andy Murray lose but you didn't care
You’d eaten well and heavy eyed you dozed

I’m sorry but when I lost the house it had to go
I know throwing it out was a bit wrong
But if chairs go to heaven though
At least you’ll have something there to sit on

I wish I’d never told you off for smoking by the pump
You looked so sad that I’d made you feel a fool
But imagine how you would have made those people jump
As they were all engulfed by a massive fireball

Enjoy your new lungs and try keeping them clean for a few hours
Enjoy your time with Granddad it’s been thirty years too long
Enjoy strolling through those heavenly gardens with all your favourite flowers
But in heaven, please don’t bag cuttings; I’m sure up there it’s wrong!

That's not right
Is that chicken? I mean I thought it was chicken
Doesn't feel like chicken
Is it worth checking

Doesn't taste like chicken.

Oh.... I swallowed.

Now I'm going to have live the rest of my days never knowing whether that was actually chicken!

Poetry ban, ****** abomination
Made error on poetic licence application

I wonder was your Tuesday fun
Mine has just begun

Largely loathing laborious loveless life
Lustless, listless lacking lady lifemate

For the second time in March we have snow
Could someone please wake spring from her slumber
She should be here by now fighting the good fight, wiping clean the wintersmiths frosty drawings

Last year she had tucked him away
She had read him his bedtime story
Last year we had seventeen, this year we have merely two

How he must be laughing, running amok through the hills and the valleys
Turning everything white with a wave of his hand
But where is she? Even he must miss her so, even he must be longing to dance

Still it is not his place to question
He can only do what is in him to do
With a sigh he exhales a bitter northerly wind and coats the confused daffodil with a jacket of ice

Then off he goes dancing alone
Spinning wildy through the towns like a leaf in a web
Stopping only to place his hands on those foolish enough to leave flesh exposed

Maybe she has forsaken us
Maybe she has resigned her post
Like when the last ice age hit and she took a sabbatical

I hope she has just slept in
Or maybe she is just getting ready for the grandest of entries
Yes let us hope she is just sorting through her vast collection of colourful dresses

Because if she does not appear and dance the dance of seasons change
If she doesn't take the wintersmith by the hand and sing him softly to sleep
Then that giant golden skinned adonis of a man summer will not come!

Without her he will not appear
Without her beauty we will not feel the warmth of his love
Oh someone please wake spring from her slumber

It’s not you son, it’s not your brother
It’s just between me and your mother

Then he left.......and everything changed