The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Sunday, April 30, 2017

His Castle

Before her necking bout with Freedom's blade,
The Queen of France would play the lowly maid;
And so today, our British man of fashion
(Who rivals her for breasts, as for compassion)
Must share the workman's joys, humble and pleasant,
In knocking up a shed while shooting pheasant.
The British worker's modest pride is seen
In how he keeps his hovel warm and clean:
Wool insulation for the walls and floor,
Hard wood to keep the homeless from the door.
When labour's done, he rests his weary head
Austerely, on a double sofa bed
Which local fauna hope is amply big
For purple porker, as for sucking-pig.

Max Stoneyvest

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