Catastrophe? For Jt Ellison
He spoke in deep heart rending tones
which stirred the marrow of your bones.
Of the great sorrow that he bore,
he would know happiness no more.
Whilst busy with some lawful task
he’d slipped and broken his hip flask.
His whisky soaked into the ground.
There was no solace to be found
Unless of course some kindly soul
would volunteer to pay the toll
to have his whisky flask renewed.
Earn his undying gratitude
But we who’d heard his tale before
paid no attention any more.
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