Here's my Ode to the Little Red Telephone Box
Little red telephone box I dedicate this ode to you,
Driving lately noticed they're decommissioning a few.
In youth you were 10p for that precious call,
Last heard was 60p, how the mighty did fall.
Down through my childhood you were always there,
Whenever in trouble a phone call to someone to care.
On rainy dog walkies you were someone to hide in,
Now where does that leave me, under the lid of a bin?
Saturday night's drunks on you would be everywhere sick,
Years later, visiting with their kids consciences did pick.
Vandals tried to wreck your dear little phone,
Leaving the next caller, to moan and groan.
Still I'd come back to you whenever in need,
And in your big tummy with 10ps I'd feed.
Where will I go when my silly mobile won't work?
Traitor, serves you right for using one, you smirk.
Yes, thinking it over we all played a big, big part,
In your downfall, breaking your enormous red heart.
Now you're being exterminated like the British fox,
I'll never forget you, my little red telephone box.
Roo
No comments:
Post a Comment