I wandered round the garden gnome, alone, except for me
I started to imagining, not knowing what I see
I thought I spied a Gimble, a-gimbling in the grue
I see the gruesome Gimble, and don’t him make me spew
I’m sure I saw a Gurtle, a-gurtling in the grebe
I saw the grinning Gurtle, and would it never leave?
I saw a gentle Marzipan, as fleet as you or I
I saw the mental Marzipan and thought I heard him cry
He hid behind a hackenbush, and drowned it with his tears
congealed behind the hackenbush, congealed, but for his ears
Oh tell me lonely Marzipan, what ails thee so much grief
on such a perspicacious day, and with such handsome teeth
He wept: That’s fine for you to say, with tooth so smooth and bright
my legs are short, as are my teeth, from grinding through the night
If only I could multiply my teeth and legs as well
just like the noble Octopi - without the vile smell
My problems would be microscoop, compared with France or Spain
I could return to karma school, and scampi round the drain
You fool! I cry. You aubergine! You’ll wish your wife away
Have you not heard the legend of the Gentle Monk of May?
Who wished for rain, and then for sun, and then a bit more rain
Then wished for snow, and toes that glow, and things to stay the same
That cold old fish, he got his wish, but did it make him glad?
Of course it did, but it got rid of all the fun he’d had
Not knowing what the future hold, or what might be next door
with everything predictable, his life became a bore
A sandwich with no filling, a bridge bereft of Trolls
a gangster movie without guns, or gangsters, or their molls
An ice cream without vinegar, a bluebird without cheese
a nightmare without scary things, a chipmunk with no knees
Is this the way to live your life, with missing links galore
the world slips by your window while you sit around and snore?
So Marzipan, complain no more, I told him with my tongue
which slithered round and licked my lips, then burst out into song
Pale Marzipan, he screamed in pain, and ran in oblongs round
my singing tongue offend him so, that sweet, milleffluouent sound?
No no, he yelp, t’was not your song, that cut me to the core
your words it were what murdered me, and felled me to the floor
As feeble Marzipan expired, before my peeling eye
I beg my brain to please explain, what words would make him die
Did I offend him with a verb, assault him with a noun?
or sentence him to death until his judgement day come round?
It took some time to figure out the words that made him dead
But then I realised, it was the words I never said
The words I do regret the most, the chances that I miss
to tell someone I like their feet, their nose, their knees, their kiss
Or just the way they brush their hair, or how they comb their teeth
or say ‘I know you’re ugly, but you’re lovely underneath.’
There’s lots of ways of making people miserable and sad
It’s easy, but the side effects make me feel just as bad
Yet if I’ve something nice to say, and say it like I should –
loud and clear in someone’s ear – I end up feeling good!
If you think that’s a great idea, a way to make life sweet
then feel quite free to pay me when you see me on the street
Notes and coins and bottle tops, the toenails of an elf
all currencies accepted, plus those you’ve made yourself
And so this tale comes to an end, as all the best tails do
it’s been sublime to spend this time, especially with you
But now I must be on my way, I sense approaching sheep
I’ll leave you with those well-known words…
…Shut up and go to sleep.
© Copyright 2017 Chris Gerard. All rights reserved.
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