Once Was Stan Poem by Marlin Nightingale

Once Was Stan



Ah once a friendly boy named Stan,
Before he grew to be a man,
Lived way back in a corner room,
The story and place of his fiscal doom,
In the house of a deacon of reknown,
There on the outskirts of isabel town.

'Twas a matter of habit, Or as story has it,
That when crossing the bedroom door,
Whatever was carried or brought in, soon married,
It's own little spot on the floor.

In short, twas a folly that fell short of 'jolly',
When it came to the housekeeping end,
And vacuums aren't meant, to serve out a stint,
As a coin-sucking, change-eating fiend.

But such was the cost, of the coins that he'd lost,
To the washer, the carpet, and bed,
The deacons wife served as a loan officer,
For the house that he bought when he wed!

And tell you, I must, his collection of dust,
Was the finest this side of the attic,
And a fencer would shake if it knew of the quake,
When the coins and the dust built up static!

E'en a bank would be proud of the colorful crowd,
Of metal he stashed in the laundry!
Every color and print of diverse foreign mint,
Left the housekeeper all in a quandary!

So a plan was hashed out, to save, keep, and count,
The treasure that littered the floor.
And a vault put in place in a secretive space,
In the form of a jar 'hind the door.

So bequeathed to Stans bride, is this fortune we hide,
As a deacon's responsible duty,
To protect and to guide the man and his bride,
To a future of financial beauty!

Friday, October 10, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: Humor
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Marlin Nightingale

Marlin Nightingale

Oklahoma, United States
Close
Error Success