I often wonder at <br />My year's as a child <br />Why my uncle don <br />Avoided me <br />I wonder if <br />It be the bull ant's <br />In his bed <br />Or the dead prawn's <br />In the pocket's of his vest <br />Maybe it was <br />The large green frog <br />That sprang out of his letter box <br />Or perhap's the three inches <br />Cut of his trowser leg's <br />That made him look taller <br />Could of been the double bunger <br />Under his car <br />He still appears nervous <br />When we meet <br />He gives me half a smile <br />Half a pat on my back <br />He check's his chair <br />Before he sit's <br />Yes, i forgot about that one <br />Everone would love to have <br />An uncle don <br />I know i did <br /> <br />Written sunday 21 november 2004<br /><br />Allan James Saywell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/uncle-don/
