A Homage to Our Other National Poet, and another Vote of Thanks to the unquenchable Tess Kincaid who has raided the lumber room of Willow Manor to bring us this week's prompt.
I used to love this old red chair
till it snapped a spring last June.
And when I sat me down today,
it twanged a Scottish tune.
I punctured am where most it hurts,
and wounded to the quick.
My butt's now like a red, red rose -
Oh what was a horrid trick!
That was a horrid trick, dear chair,
That was a horrid trick.
I'll post you on FreeCycle's site
dispose of you real quick.
But no one came to take my chair -
maybe they had no van.
And so I stood me up to think (*)
of a new disposal plan.
Well, soon to he who wrote this song
I found that my thought turns.
I dragged my chair out to the yard -
Just see how well it burns!
Just see how well it Burrrrns, my dears
Just see how well it Burrrrns.
The Bard of Ayrshire helped me out,
(*) Can't sit down, remember?
(**) The Scots roll their Rrrrr's on the least provocation. Mine still hurts too much.
Sung by the lovely EDDI READER it doesn't hurt a bit . . .