Final Request
Play all my records,
read all my books.
Remember my humour,
and all my good looks.
Forget any issues
we once may have had;
there aren’t any punch-lines
in feeling so bad.
Don’t talk to my picture,
or stare at the sky;
You won’t catch me watching,
I will not reply.
There’s no need to worry
what I’m up to now
(the view is fantastic),
but this I’ll allow:
Just think of me fondly
whenever you wish.
I’ve got my own jukebox;
it’s really quite swish.
Lean On Me
Sitting at the kitchen table,
with a cup of tea,
in comes Mr Tiller:
here to lean on me.
He starts to rest his elbows
firmly on my back-
time to get up quickly-
I hear my neck go crack!
Today he wants to pick my brains
about how much I earn,
and if I want to make a deal:
I doubt I’ll ever learn!
He’ll challenge me to poker,
to see how well I bluff,
then offer me some ice-cream:
I’ll say I’ve had enough.
Tonight he’ll croon out ‘My Way’,
as he climbs the stairs to bed.
Tomorrow he’ll come shuffling down
and lean my way instead.
Sitting at the kitchen table,
with the Sunday news;
read about Jack Tiller,
sing about the blues.
Copyright © 2017 Sarah Askew
Play all my records,
read all my books.
Remember my humour,
and all my good looks.
Forget any issues
we once may have had;
there aren’t any punch-lines
in feeling so bad.
Don’t talk to my picture,
or stare at the sky;
You won’t catch me watching,
I will not reply.
There’s no need to worry
what I’m up to now
(the view is fantastic),
but this I’ll allow:
Just think of me fondly
whenever you wish.
I’ve got my own jukebox;
it’s really quite swish.
Lean On Me
Sitting at the kitchen table,
with a cup of tea,
in comes Mr Tiller:
here to lean on me.
He starts to rest his elbows
firmly on my back-
time to get up quickly-
I hear my neck go crack!
Today he wants to pick my brains
about how much I earn,
and if I want to make a deal:
I doubt I’ll ever learn!
He’ll challenge me to poker,
to see how well I bluff,
then offer me some ice-cream:
I’ll say I’ve had enough.
Tonight he’ll croon out ‘My Way’,
as he climbs the stairs to bed.
Tomorrow he’ll come shuffling down
and lean my way instead.
Sitting at the kitchen table,
with the Sunday news;
read about Jack Tiller,
sing about the blues.
Copyright © 2017 Sarah Askew