Sunday Afternoons Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Sunday Afternoons
I like my Sundays,
most of all the afternoons.
When the same visitors
come around four,
Mr. Glen Fittock, suit and tie
a Gentleman named Jack
who lives near the racoons,
we sit around at first
and have some pie,
the wife then asks
'who'd like some more? ',
she has this little bitty knack
to overlook a growing thirst
and does not recognise our stoic masks,
until the word is uttered, 'glasses',
and then the three of us,
and sometimes more,
sit on our civil asses,
don't make a fuss
perhaps, (at least it's what I think)
the only way one can ignore
the world as such, with all its faults
is, in good company sit back and drink
be it the sour mash or malt.
Herbie i am starting to warm to you seeing a nice tender side to you.
Gyps, the rhyming set-up is deliberate. You will find that every rhyming word has its mate, except one, also deliberate. H
Have the visitors left yet Herbert? This poem has a quirky feel to it. Sometimes it appears to rhyme and other times not. I enjoyed the content but the rythm seemed a little out of time. I will be posting soon and I welcome your comments (so you can get your own back on me then) . Kind regards Gyp's
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 3:51:14 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Do you like Nellie? If not I don't like Herbie, unless coming from a friend as friendly fire. H