(1 October 1953 - / Islington, London)


One playtime, staying out of the rain,
His heart sank, Someone sniffed his seat,
And said it stank,
A ritual followed,
in which you had to dare,
To whiff the niffy chair,
Requeling from the squeling,
In jubilant despair,
From that day on we called him smelly,
But one day Smelly wasn't there,
Gone for good and noone knew where,
But you could still smell smelly,
If you smelt his chair.

by John Hegley

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