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Poem - Waddling Home

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Homewards they go

with faces aglow,

a picture of happiness

aged, content -

him in a billowing holiday shirt

her in a frock like a flowery tent,

well fed and watered, revelries done,

waddling home in the evening sun.


No strangers I think

to good food and drink.

Relaxed and unhurried,

fat and unworried,

they do love their grub

and a boisterous pub

especially today

when its Bank Holiday.


Officialdom cautions the old and the fat

to eat less of this, cut down on that

and points out the issues you ought to address

so you won’t be drain on the NHS.


But they don’t think twice

about meddling advice,

taking no measures

to cut down on Life’s pleasures,

they merrily choose

each other and booze

and care only whether

they’re happy together.

They demonstrate how

you should live for the now

-a worthy philosophy surely

until one of them dies prematurely.

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I enjoyed that Sir Nigel. Perhaps there's scope for a follow-up called Ten-a-day?

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