Closing Time

narrative verse

Closing time.

 

The night was calm and clear and still.

The Village pub had closed its doors.

Old Farmer Giles had drunk his fill

 A pint or three too much of course.

 

Now as he made his homeward way.

Determined but unsteadily.

He knew there would be hell to pay.

His wife would scold him angrily.

 

Proud of his capacity

to drink more beer than other men

He staggered on quite happily.

But would not reach his home again.

 

Tonight would be his final spree.

For death was walking close behind.

He would be struck down suddenly.

His way of death had been defined.

 

At least he would die happily.

 Too drunk to feel the slightest pain

Thanks to his vast capacity.

But he would never boast again.

 

That he could out drink any man.

To prove his masculinity.

Tonight he’d die, fufil Deaths plan.

Death always wins eventually.

 

 

His waiting wife had gone to bed

 and she was sleeping peacefully.

She could not know that he lay dead

 as he had lived disgracefully.

 

Sunday, 02 May 2010

 http:// blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers

Reviews

[Tate Morgan]

Well he died a proud man but to what purpose?
You are getting really good