I awaited the New Press with eager eyes,
They looked, downcast, at its meagre size,
I’d heard there’d be much content within;
That argument is most evidently paper thin.
Apart from yesterdays news or next weeks TV guide,
My purchase of the Press can no longer be justified,
Claiming ‘less is more’ does not jibe with this scribe;
This is a poor wee paper to which I cannot subscribe.
My old school pal Robin has gone, God knows where,
He’s been gone ever so long, and I never knew,
The longer I live, the less this life seems fair,
And its too late to say ‘Robin, its been good to know you.’
Oh, Davy Warner, you poor delicate innocent little flower,
Has the onfield jolly jokey blokey jousting begun to sour?
Did De Kocks disagreeable dialogue offend the ear, so tender
Of crickets deep-dredging low down sledging main offender?
It’s understandable for Davy to blow his fuse
When his wonderous team occasionly gracelessly lose,
But even when the bas Baggy Greens win
He can’t help putting his too little sense in.
So what has brought about whining Warnies petulant pout?
He can’t take the fact someone else is dishing it out;
So does he keep his counsel, as a good vice-captain ought?
Crikey, not on your ever-loving effing blinding life, sport.
The teary congregation lamented long and loud-
But then Billy Graham always drew a decent crowd-
At last the noted orator has been called up to the Lord
Gabriel glided down on a gilded chariot and said ‘hop aboard.’
Billy had been closing in on his centurion year
But he heard the trumpet calling, loud and clear.
Perhaps good God took note of his age and infirmity?
‘Tis sad, since it seems he’s rattled on for an eternity
So many sinning souls Billys saved by Billys word alone,
Using Gods good book and a bloody great big microphone.
Now that the impassioned Billy has gone to his well earned rest
Perhaps now he can give up prattling on like a man possessed?
I came to comely Dunfermline to learn
The whys and where’s of my wife’s ancestral seat,
To see this ancient place veiled in mist and mystique,
To better understand where my better half’s kin sprang from.
All it took was a winter off-peak day return
To solve the story, to make the tale of their migration complete,
My good wife’s frank appraisal, leavened with a touch of cheek;
‘Dunfermline’s picture perfect, seen from the carriage, sat on your bum.’