Great uncle Arthur was never a master <br />of anything he tried either now or hereafter. <br />When he potted a plant it withered and died <br />and when he made jam it ran all over his hands. <br />When he mended the car it never went very far <br />and when he painted the door it opened no more. <br />When a holiday he booked it was only the brochure he looked <br />the company had already closed down its doors <br />before he was able to get to that place he'd adored. <br /> <br />No great uncle Arthur was never a master <br />of anything he tried either now or hereafter. <br />If he picked up the phone he just got continuous tone <br />and if it should ring it invariably said, <br />Is that the home owner, have double glazing instead? <br />If he went for a stroll the sun quickly went in <br />the heavens just always seemed to pour rain down on him. <br />And if he took to his bed when he was weary at night <br />there would be bumps and screams to wake him with fright. <br /> <br />No great uncle Arthur was never a master <br />of anything he tried either now or hereafter. <br />But the funny thing is, a mystery to me, <br />I never saw him frown or even displeased. <br />Oh dear uncle Arthur what is it you know <br />that makes you shine always <br />from your head to your toes?<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/great-uncle-arthur/
