Topic: Mr. Chackrobarthi and the lost socks
this is a sermon on the demon drink. (yeah right!) I like the name Chackrobarthi, if that's how it's spelt? and the fact that I'm always losing my socks, not both just one, read on....please remember I have a wierd sense of humour
Mr. Chackrobarthi and the Lost Socks.
Mr. Chackrobarthi
Got invited to a party
There was food; so much and varied
From pizza to cakes and cherries
And whiskey served with water
To celebrate the daughter
Of his sister's older brother
But he never spoke to either
Due to arguments and bother
So he sat there in the corner
Drinking whiskey without water
So he drank more than he aught-a
Till he swayed and fell and stumbled
In the rain and so he fumbled
With the key to his front door
Falling from his hand to the floor
When he stripped off all his clothes
Which were strewn across the floor
In the morning he was searching
For the socks he had been wearing
In the washer. In the basket. In his shoes
And in the attic
But the socks were in his pocket
In his trousers so he'd locked it
In the wall safe in his office
They were wet from last nights deluge
And they dripped and soaked his refuge
The lease for all his properties
Now papier mache tragedies
That's how Mr. Chackrobarthi
Became a pauper for a pair of sodden socks.
N.B. Sodden means soaking wet, not swearing
