Ethelred had toasted bread
Each night before he went to bed.
And every day when he got up
Hot Chocolate filled his morning cup.
Then before he went to School
A Bacon Sandwich was the rule.
His Mother made his lunch each day
Which took about an hour I'd say.
Two Sausage Rolls and three Pork Pies
Four bags of Crisps as a surprise.
Some Sandwiches of Roasted Lamb
A fresh baked Quiche of Cheese and Ham.
Then for Dessert a Chocolate Cake
With Clotted Cream she'd always make.
His School was forty yards away
A healthy walk you just might say.
But Ethelred would always stop
At McIntyre's his favorite shop.
Some Sherbet Lemons or a Dip
Into his School Bag he would slip.
Then he would saunter on his way
Prepared to face another day.
At School he'd join his Classroom line
In readiness to start at nine.
His Mum had written him a note
And placed it in his Overcoat.
It asked his Teacher to refrain
From making him do 'Games' again.
'Ethelred's not well' it said
'Could he do Cookery instead? '.
His Teacher thought that it was wise
In view of his enormous size.
That Ethelred should still take part
In exercise to help his heart.
They set off for the Football Field
Where very soon it was revealed
That Ethelred would still not play
He'd left his kit at home today.
His Teacher would not be gainsaid
Nor change the plans that he had made.
Ethelred was much too fat
And needed help to alter that.
So, off he hauled him to the Gym
With clear intent, to make him slim.
He'd start him on the Vaulting Horse
Which he would reinforce, of course.
Young Ethelred looked on, bemused
His Mother wouldn't be amused
At Teacher's plans to make him fit
In fact, she wouldn't hear of it.
He needed building up, she thought
Not turn into the skinny sort
Who suffered from perrenial ills
And spent their lives digesting pills.
But Ethelred felt that he should
Obey the Teacher if he could.
So even though he had no kit
Prepared himself to go for it.
He removed his shoes and socks
And headed for the vaulting box.
Determinedly he built up speed
Forgetting all about the need
To leave the ground and make a vault
A pretty catastrophic fault!
He hit the box with dreadful force
Destroying it, at once, of course.
But even then he did not stop
He hit the wall...And then went POP! !
And so, a word now, to the wise;
DO NOT MIX FOOD AND EXERCISE! ! ! ! ! ! !
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Ethelred by Owain Glyn )
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