The poet spent a recent Christmas holed up and cackling like a hen while writing this, um, slightly bent series… 😆

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Recorded Reading (1:06): https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/bpooe0tgdw2liyi9id0xe/God-Rest-Ye-Buried-Gentlemen.m4a?rlkey=0og0ump051q1zyune3m5xc1na&dl=0

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God Rest Ye, Buried Gentlemen

God rest ye, buried gentlemen
You’ve not gone far away
At Father’s beck I had to check
This very Christmas Day
But, sure enough, just as in past,
Quiescently you lay

O-oh, tidings from we, the hoi palloi
Ho-oi polloi
O-oh, tidings from we, the hoi polloi!

You bought the cemetery plots
That lay upon the hill
Because you knew posterity
Would surely pay the bill
Since you had left as legacy
That billing in your will

O-oh, tidings from we, the hoi polloi
Ho-oi polloi
O-oh, tidings from we, the hoi polloi!

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Homeless until removal of the stalker/targeter/vandal/arsonist following her allows her to approach any landlord ~ even for a private parking space ~ this poet presently lives under perpetual threat of towing with all possessions should her 23-year-old van stop running for any reason.

She is badly in need of a modest reserve with which to field any emergency which might occur.

Donors may visit http://www.UgiftABLE.com , using code #72D-31S. It does take several days for the poet to be notified of your patronage.

Thank you for reading, and may your holidays be happy ones.

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