sheena blackhall

Rookie - 468 Points (18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

The Singing Butler - Poem by sheena blackhall

I've worked for the family for 30 years
Crowns and coronets, the Charleston trot
They pay my wages and they oil the gears
Of labour, but I tell you they're a real rum lot

There's Miss Sybil, on her painted toes
Waltzing in the sand, full of limes and gin
With Sir Henry Parker where the sea breeze blows
Pretending they are classy as the tide rolls in

In-bred, high-bred, the upper class
Pay the piper, so they call the tune
Me and the under maid must earn our brass
Holding an umbrella for a rich buffoon


Comments about The Singing Butler by sheena blackhall

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Thursday, March 15, 2012



[Hata Bildir]