Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant (9 December 1864 – 27 February 1902 / Somerset, England)
BUTCHERED TO MAKE A DUTCHMAN'S HOLIDAY
In prison cell I sadly sit,
A d__d crest-fallen chappie!
And own to you I feel a bit-
A little bit - unhappy!
It really ain't the place nor time
To reel off rhyming diction -
But yet we'll write a final rhyme
Whilst waiting cru-ci-fixion!
No matter what 'end' they decide -
Quick-lime or 'b'iling ile,' sir?
We'll do our best when crucified
To finish off in style, sir!
But we bequeath a parting tip
For sound advice of such men,
Who come across in transport ship
To polish off the Dutchmen!
If you encounter any Boers
You really must not loot 'em!
And if you wish to leave these shores,
For pity's sake, DON'T SHOOT 'EM!!
And if you'd earn a D.S.O.,
Why every British sinner
Should know the proper way to go
Is: 'ASK THE BOER TO DINNER!'
Let's toss a bumper down our throat, -
Before we pass to Heaven,
And toast: 'The trim-set petticoat
We leave behind in Devon.'
At its end the manuscript is described -
The Last Rhyme and Testament of Tony Lumpkin -
Comments about this poem (BUTCHERED TO MAKE A DUTCHMAN'S HOLIDAY by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley