For Uncle Hedley, in memoriam

by Wilkie Martin

Garden plants, though seldom deadly,

did for my poor Uncle Hedley,

who, taking time to sniff the rose,

sucked a bumble bee up his nose.

Although it did not sting, it buzzed

and Uncle Hedley raged and cussed.

The tingling made him sneeze and cough,

which caused his glasses to drop off.

He knelt to find them, full of wrath,

and found them shattered on the path.

He picked them up but cut his thumb

and full of fury blamed his mum,

his father, grandparents and kin,

who’d passed these defects on to him;

- short sight, gout and haemophilia,

some of which can surely kill ya.

As blood poured out upon the lawn,

he thought of those who’d shortly mourn

for him.  What a sad disaster!

Then remembered sticking plaster

He stumbled to the house quite fast,

his mind set on Elastoplast

but, limping through the garden peas,

his Levi’s dropped about his knees.

He tripped and fell among the beans,

while damning his defective jeans.

And yet, it was his allergy

to pollen caused fatality

Hay-fevered eyes could see no shed,

he stumbled in and banged his head,

stood on a rake upon the floor

and knocked himself right through the door

He stamped and swore - he was manic,

no decorum in his panic.

Running blind can be a gamble,

Thus, he fell into the bramble.

Stuck fast there, he felt such a prick

from all the thorns, pierced to the quick.

That’s how Uncle Hedley ended,

in a bramble bush, suspended.