Alfred ,my cat, has got fleas.
I saw ten writhing right on my knee.
So I vacuumed my skin
From my head to my shin
For my feet,I just soak them in Brie.
So Alfred is banned for a week
And I sit here feeling so bleak.
I’ll calm myself down
And remove my frown.
It’s peace not a high that I seek
Yet only three weeks have gone by
Since my husband decided to die.
His nose was like ice
Which was not at all nice.
So I cried and gave out a sad sigh.
Although I was there when he died
It seems quite unreal beside
The long years of care
The wear and the tear.
I feel like a sponge cake that’s dried.
The light has gone out in my soul
The darkness surrounds me like coal.
Oh give me a match
To strike and dispatch
This blind fog in which I now roll
For now no-one touches my hand
Nor hears if my feet hit the ground.
I hope not to fall
For who’ll hear me call?
Now silence gathers all round
Meanwhile folk phone to ask
Whether I’ve finished my task.
They want maps and guides
Which I now deride.
What’s life worth without any risk?