The Recumbent Posture
The day after Christmas, young Albert
Were what's called, confined to his bed,
With a tight kind of pain in his stummick
And a light feeling up in his head.
His parents were all in a fluster
When they saw little lad were so sick,
They said, 'Put out your tongue!', When they'd seen it
They said, 'Put it back again - quick!'
Ma made him a basin of gruel,
But that were a move for the worse;
Though the little lad tried hard to eat it,
At the finish he did the reverse.
The pain showed no signs of abating,
So at last they got Doctor to call.
He said it were in the ab-domain
And not in the stummick at all.
He sent up a bottle of physick,
With instructions on t' label to say,
'To be taken in a recumbent posture,
One teaspoon, three times a day.'
As Ma stood there reading the label
Pa started to fidget about.
He said 'Get a teaspoon and dose him,
Before he gets better without.'
'I can manage the teaspoon' said Mother
A look of distress on her face.
'It's this 'ere recumbent posture...
I haven't got one in the place.'
Said Pa, 'What about Mrs Lupton?..
Next door 'ere - you'd better ask her;
A woman who's buried three husbands
Is sure to have one of them there.'
So they went round and asked Mrs Lupton,
'Aye, I know what you mean,' she replied,
'I 'ad one on order for 'Orace,
But poor dear got impatient and died.'
She said, 'You'd best try the Co-Op shop,
They'll have one in stock I dare say;
' Fact I think I saw one in the winder
Last time I was passing that way.'
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poem by Marriott Edgar
Added by Poetry Lover
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