croc
Posted: Sat Apr 19, 2014 12:06 pm
...
He’s resting now, beneath the Bottle Tree
out in the bush he always loved so well;
It’s been a year since Angels set him free
and we were bound to say our last farewell.
I’ll sit with him today, a little while
and chatter to his spirit – always there,
of all our joys and sorrows – and he’ll smile
and tell me I’m a mad nostalgic mare.
He’ll urge me to ‘get on with it my lass;
don’t live in cracks and shadows of the past,
and keep your eyes wide open for the crass
and thieving blokes who’d take you down, the bast
-ards!’
I’ll laugh, and wave away his fond concern,
and he will grunt and growl his sound dissent,
and then upon reality’s return
I’ll hear discordant strains of my lament.
Rest in Peace my Darlin’ croc.
He’s resting now, beneath the Bottle Tree
out in the bush he always loved so well;
It’s been a year since Angels set him free
and we were bound to say our last farewell.
I’ll sit with him today, a little while
and chatter to his spirit – always there,
of all our joys and sorrows – and he’ll smile
and tell me I’m a mad nostalgic mare.
He’ll urge me to ‘get on with it my lass;
don’t live in cracks and shadows of the past,
and keep your eyes wide open for the crass
and thieving blokes who’d take you down, the bast
-ards!’
I’ll laugh, and wave away his fond concern,
and he will grunt and growl his sound dissent,
and then upon reality’s return
I’ll hear discordant strains of my lament.
Rest in Peace my Darlin’ croc.