A Poem A Day, № 9

June 23, 2017

Bally Gene

Bally Gene was the balliest fellow around

No fellow was ballier in Bally Gene’s town

And every day on every street

People whispered there’s no ballier man you could meet

Bally Gene worked down the chip shop for Mrs Esther Cannon-Bates

But only on public holidays and even summer dates

He said he didn’t like the work because of all the grease

But wouldn’t quit the chip shop for the sake of keeping peace

Everyone cheered when Bally Gene turned up

With his wild red hair and autographed teacup

That he’d lend out with a smile to whoever may ask

While wearing his ceremonial Navajo mask

But everyone cried when Bally Gene died

From getting a rhino horn stuck in his side

No one knew how he did it because no one could see him

The day he slipped on some cordial at the taxidermy museum

Though it’s sad to think that his life was so short

We rejoice in all of the things we were taught

The wisdom he offered, to friends great and small

Of Bally Gene, the balliest of us all

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