Johnny was bored with his life as it was
He felt as though his fate was decreed
By the likes of Victorian undertakers
With professionally ingrained sympathy
Wringing their hands with grief to his face
Rubbing them with glee behind his back
Solemn faced professional men
Who were here to bury
After all

So, feeling as he did about his life
He packed a bag and headed for the jungle
Where there are no rules at all
Other than those which keep you alive
Amongst the roaring beasts on the ground
And the screeching creatures of the trees
As well as the snakes that hang, crawl and swim
Always beware of snakes and their venom
And even the tiny deadly mosquito
Filled his every day with possible peril
But he had freedom
Of a sort

                                        By Phil Roberts