Unwrapping The Gift Poem by eliza keating

UNWRAPPING THE GIFT



IF THE DEAD THEY ARE HERE, AND AMONG US THEY WALK
WHEN SUMMONED FROM GRAVES, WHY IS IT RUBBISH THEY TALK

cause I've attended many a psychic meeting
in a cold dreary hall, that has no heating
sitting there on hard wooden chairs
as the psychic begins, IS THERE ANYONE THERE
there a man here she shouts, that's how she' will start
then around the hall her eyes will dart

til she seeks out a woman, who looks sadder than most
and tells her beside you, stands your husbands ghost
so the grief stricken woman nods her grief stricken head
wipes the tears from her eyes, cause her husband is dead

and why is his name always Jim, John or Jack
and he's still harping on, bout his troublesome back

then the psychic tells Jack's wife about Jack's final hour
Jack's favourite dram and Jack's favourite flower

far be it from me, to speak ill of the dead
but your wife knows all that, fifty years you were wed

cant the dead tell us, what we're longing to hear
or make their messages slightly more clear
cause I don't care what happened to grannies old ring
or that in his day that old Tommy could sing
I don't want to know about when shep was a pup
cant they tell me the winner of the cheltenham gold cup
or the winning numbers in the lottery tomorrow
why come back from the grave, causing even more sorrow
so all the dead folk out there, one final request
if you cant help us out, in your grave please just rest

Eliza keating