Uncle Jims Farm Poem by Tango

This is True.

When I was a lad,
in the second world war,
I lived in a town where bombs,
were falling outside the door.
Food was scarce, and times were grim,
at night everything was dark, and dim
so mother took us for a holiday,
on a farm, to stay for a week with uncle Jim.
So on to the train we all did get,
to ride the lines, a way down to Somerset.

Uncle Jim, and aunt Mary,
made us welcome in their home,
I was told as long as I shut the gates,
that I was free to roam.
Around the farm I went,
eyes wide open in awe,
there were horses, cows, sheep,
ducks, chickens, pigeons,
and lots of things, I'd never seen before.
I had food to eat, the likes I'd never seen,
stuff like real butter on my bread,
apple pie, with a topping of real cream.
When I went to bed, I was asleep,
as soon as the pillow hit my head.

On Saturday uncle Jim said,
tomorrow we will have a real treat,
for Sunday dinner, pigeon,
we all will have to eat.
Come Sunday around the dinner table we sat,
aunt Mary brought in the vegetables,
and placed the dish upon a mat.
Then in came uncle Jim,
carrying a covered meat dish, made of tin.
with a flourish he sharpened his knife,
lifted the lid, and there,
sat one little pigeon,
for the eight of us to share.

~Tango~