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Walking With Mr T.
Two men are walking in the Mournes
In the dew lapped early dawn
Noel Thompson is but one of the men
The other is wee Sean.
And as they walk, they smile and talk
As old friends are wont to do
"Oh Noel" cried Sean most fervently,
"How I've longed to walk with-you.
How I've longed to walk with you, dear Noel
In fallow pastures undisturbed by mole.
Stroll under shady chestnut trees
Ingnoring the rickets in my knees.
To leap with ease o'er brook and stream
Has always been my lifelong dream.
To watch the silver minnows dart
At the rumble of a horse drawn cart.
And now at last my dreams come true
I'm walking in the Mournes with-you.
To think a worthless man like me
Would go for a walk with Mr T."
Said Noel to Sean, "Give me your hand
You Sir, are my kind of man.
Gerry Anderson is such a ninny.
Hey! lets go and frolic in yon spinny."
They froliced in the spinny bracken
Ate a lunch that Noel was packin'
Then suddenly! oh how they smile
When confronted by a wooden stile.
"Stand back," said Noel, "See how it's done."
Noel pawed the ground and took a run
And leaped the stile with a mile to spare
How his anorack billowed in the air.
Wee Sean then sprinted towards the stile
His face contorted with a rictus smile
But then he took a nervous fit
And landed-yes, arse over tit.
Noel put the wee man on his back
Carried Sean just like a sack.
By the look on his face it was plain to see
Sean would never walk again with Mr-T.
Be careful of what you wish for!



Copyright 2009 J P McMenamin