These are the first few stanzas of my latest epic poem. If you can stand the first sample, I could be persuaded to drip-feed the remainder . . . or to desist entirely, given sufficient inducement (Paypal, Visa or American Express accepted)
Warning to any sensitive souls or lovers of fine poetry out there. Do not read on.
===== "Little Jim" - The Restorer's's Dying Maytag - by Jack Watson (with apologies to Edward Farmer)
The workshop was a thatched one The outside old and mean Yet everything within that shed Was wondrous neat and clean.
The night was dark and stormy The wind was howling wild A patient owner knelt beside The crankcase of his "child".
A little worn out power plant Whose once bright paint grown dim He was the restorer's only child, He called him "Little Jim".
And oh! to see the burning tears fast running down his cheek As he offered up his prayers in thought he was afraid to speak. "Just start once more", he sobbed, "I love you better than my wife" For there was all an owner's love in that poor restorer's life.
With hands uplifted he kneels beside the engine's bed And prays that the night may spare his 'Tag and take himself instead. He gets his answer from the echos resounding in the hut "Kick,zip...Kick,zip...Kick,zip......Puff......puff......puff........phut!"
==== Submitted more in sorrow than regret.(sob) - JW²