Tuesday, July 18, 2006
75
My Mam is 75 on friday. Also my brother Phil's Mam is 75 as well so we're taking her on a trip to Prog in the Czech Reprobate with Phil's new-world family (Rachet, Eye-sac and Is-it-a-bell). This trip will be glorious celebration of Vera's life so far and once we decide the mode of transport to the airport, all will be well. I'd prefer to take the hydrofoil but everyone else wants to walk there on mountian bikes.
Mam was etched out of the finest North East granite in 1931. You can actually still make statues of her by dropping molten copper into the reconstructed cliff wall left over from her creation. Mere physical frailties and ailments bounce and perish as they attempt to enter the Fort Knox that is her constitution. She has a shock of hair which generates so much static electricity that it has the Bermuda triangle looking on enviously as U-boats and guillemots fly headlong into its deadly gravitivity. Poems of Veronic celebration write themselves unchecked, leaping into life from same potent ether...
Oh happy birthday Vera,
True image like no other,
Everyone can here 'er,
Especially me and my brother.
Florence it comes next year,
For Beany, Bags and wor Pigs,
Though I heard it smells of dog hair,
A dump that is just like Stig's.
And so let's raise a glass,
I'm sure she won't be miffed,
Happy Birthday Mother,
On your seventy fifth!
All our love, Mam, as always
X
Mam was etched out of the finest North East granite in 1931. You can actually still make statues of her by dropping molten copper into the reconstructed cliff wall left over from her creation. Mere physical frailties and ailments bounce and perish as they attempt to enter the Fort Knox that is her constitution. She has a shock of hair which generates so much static electricity that it has the Bermuda triangle looking on enviously as U-boats and guillemots fly headlong into its deadly gravitivity. Poems of Veronic celebration write themselves unchecked, leaping into life from same potent ether...
Oh happy birthday Vera,
True image like no other,
Everyone can here 'er,
Especially me and my brother.
Florence it comes next year,
For Beany, Bags and wor Pigs,
Though I heard it smells of dog hair,
A dump that is just like Stig's.
And so let's raise a glass,
I'm sure she won't be miffed,
Happy Birthday Mother,
On your seventy fifth!
All our love, Mam, as always
X
# posted by Bradlaw Skimp @ 4:14 PM 
