I took a trip to Portland town
With a mate we went to look around
The mate's Aunty lived on the edge of town
And being young that Saturday we partied down
When the local pub had a disco (when that term was ok)
We stayed until it closed and decided to continue as we may
To a party we went along until the 3rd gong then rolled back home
As we turned the front door's key we entered without a sound known
But it seemed that the partaking of the amber fluid that night
Made my mate and me by alcohol a bit unsteady and tight
We met a brass pot stand near the door on the floor
And made a loud sound we couldn't stop even more
We woke the Aunty and the Uncle who had a laugh
And a legend of their family came to pass.
© Paul Warren Poetry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
On a roll, Paul, thank you for making my cabin fever (due to the wet stuff pouring from above) a little better.