When I staggered away from my favourite pub, The night was dark and still, And I thought I'd take a short cut home, That led over Cemetery Hill. Now I'm not a hero as everyone knows, And I have no reckless trends, But ghosts and the like leave me cold, as it were, And spirits and I are old friends.
I wobbled along through the cemetery gates, Begging my legs to behave, And everything went pretty well, so I thought, Till I fell down a newly-dug grave. For a moment I thought I had landed in hell, And ended my earthly career. I sniffed like a hound for the sulphurous fumes, Expecting Old Nick to appear.
But reason returned and I staggered erect, My prison so dark, to survey, And tested my bones for a fracture or two, But everything functioned O.K. I made a feeble attempt to get out, But it needed no more than a glance To tell me that in my condition, I hadn't the ghost of a chance.
I reckoned I'd have a lay-off for awhile, And when I woke sober and fit, I'd surely come up with a first-class idea, That would get me up out of the pit. Just then I could hear fast oncoming steps, That seemed too good to be true, But ere I could 'Coo-ee' or offer advice, In the grave there were suddenly two!
It happened he fell in the grave's other end, With no one to cushion his fall; But he rose like a shot with a high-pitched yelp, And attempted to scale up the wall. This chap was at pains to be up and away, As the capers he cut, plainly told; He jumped and he scrambled and jumped again, But his fingers and toes wouldn't hold.
I hadn't yet spoken - I'd hardly a chance, The way he cavorted about, And I had to admire the way that he fought To sever all ties and get out. Of course, he believed there was nobody near - He thought he was there all alone, And I got the idea it had entered his head That the grave was becoming his own.
I felt a bit sad for the poor little guy, Now acting a little distraught, And I thought he'd relax if I gave him the drum, That he wasn't alone, as he thought. So I walked up behind him and tapped on his back As he paused for another wild bid; You CAN'T make it mate,' I breathed in his ear But by the Lord Harry, he DID!
This one is a bit longer but some Australian Bush Poetry is very funny! Full marks to Claude Morris on this one!
A Grave Situation
When I staggered away from my favourite pub,
The night was dark and still,
And I thought I'd take a short cut home,
That led over Cemetery Hill.
Now I'm not a hero as everyone knows,
And I have no reckless trends,
But ghosts and the like leave me cold, as it were,
And spirits and I are old friends.
I wobbled along through the cemetery gates,
Begging my legs to behave,
And everything went pretty well, so I thought,
Till I fell down a newly-dug grave.
For a moment I thought I had landed in hell,
And ended my earthly career.
I sniffed like a hound for the sulphurous fumes,
Expecting Old Nick to appear.
But reason returned and I staggered erect,
My prison so dark, to survey,
And tested my bones for a fracture or two,
But everything functioned O.K.
I made a feeble attempt to get out,
But it needed no more than a glance
To tell me that in my condition,
I hadn't the ghost of a chance.
I reckoned I'd have a lay-off for awhile,
And when I woke sober and fit,
I'd surely come up with a first-class idea,
That would get me up out of the pit.
Just then I could hear fast oncoming steps,
That seemed too good to be true,
But ere I could 'Coo-ee' or offer advice,
In the grave there were suddenly two!
It happened he fell in the grave's other end,
With no one to cushion his fall;
But he rose like a shot with a high-pitched yelp,
And attempted to scale up the wall.
This chap was at pains to be up and away,
As the capers he cut, plainly told;
He jumped and he scrambled and jumped again,
But his fingers and toes wouldn't hold.
I hadn't yet spoken - I'd hardly a chance,
The way he cavorted about,
And I had to admire the way that he fought
To sever all ties and get out.
Of course, he believed there was nobody near -
He thought he was there all alone,
And I got the idea it had entered his head
That the grave was becoming his own.
I felt a bit sad for the poor little guy,
Now acting a little distraught,
And I thought he'd relax if I gave him the drum,
That he wasn't alone, as he thought.
So I walked up behind him and tapped on his back
As he paused for another wild bid;
You CAN'T make it mate,' I breathed in his ear
But by the Lord Harry, he DID!