Let No Man Say

LET no man say that I am nearly done for. My head is bowed but not unduly bloody, And though my trousers are a trifle muddy, Mud, after all, is what the tweed was spun for. I have an ounce of gold; what is a ton for? The gem-encrusted Gaekwar on his gadi, The swart … Continue reading Let No Man Say


Fat Man in the Park

THE bees inspect him, but prefer the flowers. He has been lying on the grass for hours, A fat man in a light-grey suit. Is he alive or dead? The point is verging on the moot, As Wodehouse wonderfully said. He lies below the sympathetic trees, A newspaper spread out across his knees. It may … Continue reading Fat Man in the Park