It was fifty years ago on this auspicious day
Neil Armstrong had these prophetic words to say,
‘One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,’
Before stepping out to see what in Heaven he might find.
Will there be diamonds, just lying around?
Will there be gold, or the good oil underground?
A planet full of platinum- or plutonium- ours to take?
Some star-spangled silver to make into a lunar keepsake?
And what worldly wonders the brave spaceman saw;
Just rocks and dust, dust and rocks, rocks by the score,
Dutifully into the sample satchel Neil tossed in the rubble;
A dumb bag of rocks costing all this time, travel and trouble.
See that tiny twinkle, fading on the moons crust?
Fifty years on Apollo 11 sits, forever gathering dust,
Back on Earth NASA scientists say it has all been worth it;
Pity NASA’s accountants, they’re still struggling to unearth it.
It’s a hard old life for our poor hard-working Sanjay,
Manning the tills, at the counter eighteen hours a day,
Opening the doors at the first hint of dawns early light,
Not closing those doors till the clock ticks past midnight.
But yesterday Sanjay appeared bleary weary and grey-faced
And on his always-open door this declaration he tearily placed,
‘Closed this morning, thanks to the Black Cap over-achievement’
This Cup-upset leaves Sanjay mourning an unexpected bereavement.
‘Bye to the man who made ‘The Girl From Ipenema,’
That ode to the hot-blooded Latin dreamer- and schemer,
Jaoa’s beach partying days are done,
For him, the Ipeneman sands have run,
He’s had his time, his moment in the sun.
For Jaoa Gilberto, the reclusive master of the Bossa Nova
The dreams of golden beaches and glistening peaches are over.
Laden to the brim with prime Jim Beam
The ol’ Kentucky warehouse caught afire,
It proved dispiriting to the Fire Fighting team
So sorrowfully trying to water down that pyre.
What did not burn flowed slowly downstream,
What more could a lucky Kentucky fisherman desire?
Fish flopping happily into the net is an anglers dream-
Steamed pickled fish out of water, straight into the fryer.
Just days after the departure of Doris Day
Tim Conway has gone and gone the same way,
He’s done last his run, he’s taken his final bow,
He’ll be asking Saint Peter about any openings by now.
Who could ever forget
Tim cracking up Carol Burnett
And leaving the entire set
With cheeks and tidy-whities wet?
So Tim has sadly gone, and only God knows why-
Perhaps, these days, He feels He needs a funny guy?
Lordy, it’s not for us to question the likes of Thou
But he’s gone, and left, and it’s a sadder world now.