The Time Has Come...

Don't believe everything that you hear...

 

The vicar went to the valley,

A mountain on either side,

He built a small log cabin

To comfort his future bride,

The wind between the mountains

Brought echoes of far-off plains,

More often than not in the heart of the night,

Someone called his name.

 

The voice was sometimes muffled,

The voice, it sometimes screamed,

Whole sentences were chanted

Broke in on the vicar's dreams,

The sounds were like a mirage

Half heard from a distant town,

Whenever the wind would begin to rise

He heard the strangest sounds.

 

A tap-tap-tap in the morning,

A tap-tap-tap at night,

As if someone was typing

Up on the mountain's height,

The rhythm was pervasive

As it typed some ancient log,

He heard the words: 'The quick brown fox

Jumps over the lazy dog.'

 

He ran from out of the cabin

And scanned the dusty plain,

His trusty dog was lying

Asleep on the track again,

When out from the brittle bushes

Aside of the narrow track,

A quick brown fox with a startled look,

Jumped over his old Ridge-back.

 

The vicar ran to the cabin

And fell on his knees in prayer,

What are you trying to tell me, lord,

That you're really, really there?

I thought you were, but I wasn't sure,

It'll take some getting used to!

A voice intoned: 'England expects

Each man to do his duty!'

 

The vicar jumped up off his knees

And praised the lord again,

You've saved my very soul, my lord,

From Hell, and the pits of pain,

I'd thought that God was mine alone,

And not for everyone,

But now I find - and it blows my mind;

'God is an Englishman!'

 

The wind was slowly rising,

It whined and whooped and roared,

It swooped along the valley,

Came in at the cabin door,

The vicar, sleeping restlessly

Heard everything, hale and hearty:

'The time has come for all good men

To come to the aid of the party.'

 

The vicar's not been seen of late

He's busy, light and dark,

With hammer, nails, and canvas sails

He's building himself an Ark,

While in a tiny township that

Lies hidden in mountain haze,

A typing teacher has just locked up,

And gone on his holidays.

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Valentine]

David, this is absolutely funny..I love how your poems tell a tale and end with a great big laugh..Great write as always..God bless..Valentine

[Norma J. Jessee]

David you have done everything but stick our finger in a light socket, to give us a buzz.
I totally love this.
Right from the start I noticed some of the phrases we used when learning to type.
A remarkable read.

[Legion]

No doubt. I had to read this twice to get what was going on. LOL Great write. Keep 'em coming. :)