Rhyme For Our Time

(With apologies to Flanders and Swann)

’Twas on a Monday morning when the postman came to call,

He pushed through all the mail shots and sent them over the hall.

I gathered them up and put

them in a sack,

I like to keep it tidy for I know he’ll soon be coming back.

He came again on Tuesday and Wednesday just the same,

And when he came on Thursday it was no longer just a game.

’Twas on a Friday morning when the bin man came to call.

He collected all the mail shots, that I’d put in the sack,

Then heaved them into his wheelie bin and wearily took them back.

I know it all makes work for

the working man to do, But even with a rest on Sunday, it still seems quite insane,

That come next Monday morning, it will start all over again.

I know it pleases all the councillors to see such recycling done,

It gives them all a swagger and they beam just like the sun.

But a cunning thought occurred to me, before we all finally lose our grip,

Why don’t we just cut out the middleman and deliver them to the tip? Roger Prior, Shinfield, Berks.