I always feel like I’m cheating if the rhyme posted is a short one, so here’s a double header to conclude the week of posts in celebration of DisjointedRhymings being on Facebook. If you’re not already a ‘fan’ of the page, and you are on FB, links are to the left.
These two rhymes lived solely in my illustrated notebook, carefully written in using my quill pen and then illustrated using inks. Said notebook had been living in Scotland for the past three years after lending it to Bonnie Prince Charlie (or at least the chap who spends most of his time pretending to be him) for his thoughts on my work. Thankfully my friend got engaged and his betrothed being a lot more organised than he is, managed to arrange for it to return. Enjoy!
My wrist aches,
Time to stop writing.
My nose runs,
Time to take more medicine.
My eyelids droop,
Time to get some sleep.
See me born,
See me smile.
See me laugh,
See me cry.
See me grow,
See me love.
See me learn,
See me die.
I’m presently having a major clear out, trying to simplify things and make sure there’s plenty of space for my cat when I get one. As I was doing so, I stumbled across a random strip of cloth, which reminded me of some fun times with friends, and inspired a very rough rhyme about it. Enjoy!
A Scrap of Cloth
Let me tell you the story,
Of a yard long strip of linen.
It never saw great glory,
Just the memories it brings.
I was a reenactor once,
It was my irritating stock.
Opposed to the Bonnie Ponce,
Our unit’s sole Grenadier.
Bombless I marched behind our Sarge,
Tucked my music into his jacket.
And when he called the charge,
I’d loose my stock to play British Grenadiers.
See that rusty stain just there,
I got that fighting a Jacobite.
A night skirmish he won quite fair,
But opened my thumb with his blade.
Kept my neck warm huddled by the fire,
With friends on a cold winter night.
Daring our head wench’s ire,
To sneak some extra food.
An insignificant tattered strip,
With so many memories woven in.
As it slowly leaves my grip,
Consigned to forgotten again.