Unclecharlie - Poem by poppy miller
I had an uncle, long since dead
Who left me his estate
Consisting of a wooden bed
And a rotten wooden gate.
Some baccy in a biscuit tin
His dentures in a cup
And a pair of dirty braces
To keep his britches up.
A shovel with a hole in it
And ashes in the grate
A little chest beside his bed
Burnt toast upon a plate.
His shiny suit for Sunday best
Hung upon the door
A clippy mat in red and black
Laid on the Welsh slate floor.
His slippers by the fireside
With holes where his big toes sat
And on the arm of his horsehair chair
Sat his faithful old flat cap.
Oh but I was rich beyond compare
For I'll laugh both night and day
At what that blighter left to me,
Till time is done and then a day.
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