February Morning

He left the house at five o’clock,
A cup of water and blaubok.
Whilst dark and all around,
The birds were quiet - not a sound.
He went on down in a decline,
Stopped himself before a sign,
To brew some coffee for a drink.
So why do that, I guess you’d think?
He looked around for people near,
And gave a stare, with no fear.
He kept on going without a care,
In his nightmare world, held his stare,
Then passed a farm with all its jink.
So why do that, I guess you’d think?

Suddenly, as if by fate,
Approached a gate.
A barn to his right and straight ahead,
He passed it by; no dread,
And stopped – he saw his head,
Upon the ground in all its glory.
Oh my Lord, now what a story!

So end it does this little ditty,
Of ghosts and madmen - in the city.
The moral is, I won’t deny,
When looking up at the sky,
If it’s dark and early, and cold,
Don’t get up unless you’re bold.
For, he said, you might meet,
A funny thing in some street.
It ends and then you’ll see about,
Death in hedgerows and tre-es stout.
Stay instead and rest in bed.
A warning this is to all he said,
“They locked me up with nought to drink.”
Now why did they do that, I guess you’d think?