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The Poor Wee Urchin Who Spoke Funny ©

Danny Reynolds
Dalton in Furness, England
2006

Whilst dayin sum Markit Research,
I went chappin on loads o' doors.
Up n' doon the High Rise flats
As many as forty floors.
The saddest tale I heard that day
O' a poor wee lad’s neglect,
And the circumstance, led me a dance
And did tax my intellect.

Knock, Knock. Ring, Ring. Rap, Rap. went I
On the door of One-Forty–Four.
He answered the door in his PeeJays
(A strange place to be putting a door?)

Around about the age of eight,
this curly-heeded wain,
was there to answer all my questions.
Although he hummed like a drain.

“Cood I speak tay yir Mammy son?”
(At this point my irritation grows.)
The poor wee soul’s face wiz plastered wi snotters,
But he still could talk through his nose.

His nasally yelping, (I refrained from him skelping)
clawed at my earholes, what a din.
It was then he replied, “Ma Mammy’s no inside!
She’s on long-stay at the local Loony-Bin!”

“Oh dear!” I let out. Then continued, in doubt,
“Is it your Daddy that’s watchin you today?”
“Naww, nawww. Ye canny talk tay ma Paw,
coz he’s in the Loony-Bin tay!”

“Perhaps you have a sister?
I’m sure if you did, you would tell?”
“Aye that’s true, I’ve got two,
but they’re nay use tay you,
coz they‘re sharing an en-suite cell.”

My last hope, “Have you got a brother?”-“YES!”
“Is he in the Loony-Bin too?”
“Don’t be so silly, big bruv Billy,
he's at Univesity noo!”

There is, they say a very fine line
Twixt genius and madness.
Big bruv Billy, may have been sent,
To alleviate this child’s sadness.

“Does Big bruv Billy look after you?
Does he tend to every wish?

“You trying tay be funny?
Billy’s in a Petri-dish!”



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