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The Christening.
The christening.
I feel well on,
The drink has done its job.
Staggering all about,
Can’t say ecclesiastical robe,
But I am proud as punch
My chest is fit to burst.
I look towards my first born
And nearly fall headfirst.
“If sometimes my Son,
It seems I talk down to you.”
“I cannot help the fact that I am taller.”
“If what I say is beyond reach
Out with your comprehension,
It is only because your arms are smaller.”
“If life itself becomes to much
And you begin to smother.”
“Then shout out loud
You’ll do her proud
Just bawl out for your Mother!”
Why should I morn
Those that are born
Without the gift of thought,
They’re only me without a plea
Who will grow beneath
A purgatory tree..
F…u….
Where’s the bar….
