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Local Poetry

Uncle Ted  By Dave Hawkins

Poem from Dave's latest collection "Drake's Pier Tales".

Here's warning, to all you men,
Don't end up, like Uncle Ted.
He never wen't to Church on Sunday,
He went to The Ale House instead.

Every Sunday, without fail
You could always find Uncle Ted,
Walking home along the cut bank,
After one or two pints in t' Bucks Head.

But one Sunday, as he came out of the pub,
He was in for a bit of a shock,
He met the Priest from the local Church
On t' canal bank, near Dover Locks.

The Priest was a giant, at six foot four,
Uncle Ted, was two feet shorter,
The Priest grabbed him, by the scruff of his neck,
And ducked him head first in the water.

He ducked him a couple of times,
Uncle Ted was soaking wet,
Each time the Priest held him down,
He said: 'Have you seen Jesus yet?'

After going under for the umpteenth time,
Uncle Ted thought the end was near,
Gasping for breath. He said to the Priest
'Are you sure he fell in here?'