I’m worried, Professor, you seem very ill.
Each day you appear to be thinner.
You lie there quite silently, perfectly still,
refusing your breakfast and dinner.
I know that your submarine sunroof went wrong
and drowned quite a number of men.
The balsa-wood barbecue didn’t last long,
but get up and try, try again.
Your toilet-seat microphone works very well;
poor mother felt sick when I tried it.
The clockwork umbrella will certainly sell,
though grandma is still trapped inside it.
So, don’t be unhappy, no, don’t be depressed,
your genius couldn’t be clearer.
I love your inventions, I’m truly impressed.
Each failure brings triumph nearer.
.
Paul Hughes, 2009
Paul, absolutely great stuff! Since your father told me about the site (in the Eight Bells!) my boys are enjoying it in Barcelona and my nephew & niece in Montreal. Kind regards, Tim.
Hello there. Thanks for that! I hear dad has been punting this stuff around the pub. It’s a shame that no publishers drink there…
Ha Ha Ha that was truly a great poem, it made me laugh… I loved that it was overloaded with humor, imagination and creativity. Well done.
I love “each failure brings triumph nearer.”
