My Brother's Keeper.
June 27, 2017
October 10, 2016
Angels And Demons.
October 5, 2016
I Will Listen.
October 4, 2016
September 17, 2016
August 13, 2016
The Ghost of Veterans House.
July 7, 2016
July 3, 2016
Son of a Witch.
June 18, 2016
They lie a bit.
June 7, 2016
My Grandad’s old school held an exhibition in remembrance week, focusing on all the old pupils who had fought in the armed conflicts of our country. I...
"REMEMBER LAST NIGHT." A short story.
November 11, 2014
Toby Cole Copyright 2016 all rights reserved.
When the fairground comes to town,
all young children no longer frown.
In the sixties times of our lives,
run to make the fair ground rides.
The summer season brought them all
young and old, short and tall.
To take their turns for a penny
spun around the first of many.
Sights and smells and sounds unique,
the fairground crew a special clique.
Pitch their tents park caravans,
exotic ladies from foreign lands.
Great oiled machines assembled there,
metal dinosaurs filled the air.
The waltzer, big dipper, bumper cars too,
helter skelter, ghost train new.
As kids we loved it one and all,
hunting for dropped change that fall.
I found a shilling, shining and fine,
as I picked it up a voice said, ‘that’s mine.’
I looked up to see a gangling youth,
‘It’s mine,’ I said, ‘ownerships proof.’
‘Give or I’ll take it, take my time.’
‘It’s mine,’ I said, ‘you filthy swine.’
‘I’ll fight you for it oik,’ he said
‘And when we do I’ll break your head.’
‘So you’re a bully I said bigger than me,
but I’ll fight you for a fee.’
‘What’s the fee?’ the yobbo said.
‘Fifteen shillings when you’re bled.’
He laughed, ‘I’ll beat you piece by piece,
our fight the fairground’s new showpiece.
The Fairground loves a gloved up fight,
they’ll bet their money to watch your flight.’
‘Okay,’ I said and sullenly stared,
trying to show him I wasn’t scared.
‘We’ll fight tomorrow you get the ring,
then I’ll make your fat head sing.’
‘Big words,’ he said, ‘I’ll kick your arse,
make you look a little farce.’
I knew he would but braved it out,
‘I’ll bring my friends from all about.
‘You’ll need them boy,’ he said and laughed,
when I teach you my ring craft.
See you on the downs at ten,
I’ll get the ring built by men.
From the fairground families,
four stout corners made from trees.
Ropes to stop you running away,
you’ll wish you never see that day.’
‘Don’t be late I hope it’s sunny.’
I said and added, ‘bring the money.’
I sauntered off my head held high,
inside let out a tiny sigh.
I wandered slow across the downs,
sparrows weaving up and down.
Among the tall grass quick to flee,
I wished like them I could be free.
Down the hill towards my home,
I wished I didn’t feel alone.
Told my brother the fight to be had,
described the boy he said, ‘you’re mad.
That’s Terry Smith he’s hard as nails,.
will knock your wind right out your sails
Call it off give the money away,
don’t fight and live another day.’
‘I’ll fight him,’ I said, ‘no going back,
I’m not scared of his attack.’
‘You’re crazy little bro,’ he shook his head,
‘this time tomorrow you’ll surely be dead.
If not dead maimed a bit,
On his face a smile alit.
‘What?’ I said, ‘what do you know?’
‘Will you use boxing gloves for your show?’
‘Of course,’ I said, ‘its been agreed,
he has his made for speed.
I have mine our Grandad’s old pair,
‘Good,’ he said, ‘his advantage is unfair.
We’ll even the odds he’s bigger than you,
so we’ll add something to the stew.
I’ll sew some iron inside the leather,
so when you hit him he’ll show a white feather.
That’s if he gets up makes the shout,
with metalled gloves you’ll knock him out.’
‘But that’s cheating,’ I quietly spoke,
‘the crowd won’t take that as a joke.
‘He’s a foot at least taller than you,
and has five long years on you too.’
‘Okay, I said, ‘do the deed,
tomorrow will help me in my need.
I didn’t sleep a wink that eve,
thinking of the trick up our sleeve.
Hoped I wouldn’t break my hand,
when I sent big Terry to lala land.
All night there was a heavy rain,
English summer not without pain.
Prayed it would last throughout the night,
wash away my frightening fight.
At dawn I slept awoke to sun,
the weather wouldn’t spoil the fun.
I ate a breakfast as if my last,
my brother said, ‘its time to fast.
Eat no more you’ll bloat right out
not be fit for your bout.
Lets go a running lighten up,’
reluctantly I saddled up.
We hit the hills all round about,
dodged the puddles in and out.
Sprinted hills like all our lives,
calf muscles as sharp as knives.
At noon we went up to the downs,
face the music and the frowns.
We saw the ring beside the fair,
a hearty crowd had gathered there.
Carny men tall and proud,
carny girls beauty loud.
They patted my back as we walked through,
my brother smiled and danced renewed.
Held the gloves close to his chest,
watched as I slowly undressed.
When I was down to shorts and boots,
the carny crowd let out hoots.
‘Get it going boys’ they shout,
‘we’ve all laid bets upon your bout.’
Terry stepped in to the ring,
Danced gave out an imperious grin.
I could see the money flowing free,
none of it bet on me.
My brother stepped up to the bookies,
‘ten pounds says my brother don’t freeze.’
They laughed and put it in their satchels,
proud that they would fund my battle.
‘One hundred to one he’ll never beat him,
Terry Smith is going to eat him.’
Or so it seemed as I leapt to the ring,
heard the carny people sing.
‘Go Tommy Bliss fight the yob,
silence his almighty gob.
I grimaced and put my hands in gloves,
prayed my brother with iron had them loved.
The bell rang Terry thundered out,
gave my cheek a mighty clout.
Before I could dodge and bend,
hit me another down I went.
The crowd went quiet I shook my head,
felt my cheek where it bled.
Heard the ref count to three,
got up off my bended knee.
Danced and dodged took a few,
one in ribs near made me spew.
Spent the whole round taking flight,
sat on my stool the ref said, ‘fight.
Don’t run away annoy the crowd,’
‘Not against the rules,’ I said aloud.
‘Maybe so but punch a bit,
next round fight or else I’ll stop it.’
‘Agreed,’ I said got off my stool,
no more me the running fool.
Terry came swinging arms,
I stepped inside his fatal charms.
Swung a blow the best I had,
caught his shoulder made him mad.
One arm out evened the odds,
but he swung the hammer of gods.
Caught me low and caught me fast,
set me on canvas on my arse.
The carneys booed the ref shook his head,
from below my belt I bled.
‘Do that again,’ he said to Terry,
‘I’ll let the crowd on your head make merry.’
Terry gave a sullen glare,
looked suspicious at the gloves I wear.
Rubbed his shoulder returned to his stool,
flexed a bit the crowd cried, ‘fool.’
Then, ‘get going again Tommy Bliss,
see if you can land the boxers kiss.’
I knew of what the crowd talked loud,
swing the fists and knock him out.
I took a breath and stepped back in,
the crowd let out an awful din.
Terry let go a mighty hit,
I dodged and ducked right under it.
Then I came up with a roar,
sweet right hook set him on floor.
I looked and knew I’d found the clout,
The ref counted ten and said, ‘you’re out.’
The crowd went mad the bookies sobbed,
hundred to one odds my brother them robbed.
My brother raised my small right hand,
I whispered, conceal the gloves as planned.’
He laughed out loud said, ‘here’s relief,
no iron in glove just your belief.’
‘You fooled me,’ I said, ‘I’m amazed,’
under my own steam I’d left Terry dazed.
And then the party had truly begun,
the crowd carried me along in the sun.
All the fairground rides were free,
to me and my own family.
And on the waltzer I met a girl,
my first true love god’s true pearl.
Her name was Anette she was not plain,
and in my heart I felt a pain.
She said, ‘Tommy what’s amiss?’
I said, ’nothing’ and took a kiss.
And up and out we whirled above crowds,
I felt us soaring through the clouds.
As we looked down from above the birds,
or so I thought and heard her words.
‘Tommy, Tommy, Tommy Bliss,
you’re the first boy e’r I’ve kissed.’
‘You too,’ I lied but it felt so,
and round and round the waltzer goes.,
We rode the rides I loved her charms,
and then went to the Derby Arms.
A public house as old as time,
the ale to my young lips sublime.
Under age but way back then,
pubs served boys the same as men.
All afternoon we sang and drank,
the money I’d won not making bank.
We danced and kissed among the crowds,
both our heads still in the clouds.
After dark we staggered home,
down the lanes and through the gloam.
Birds tweeted their last goodnights,
owls and friends prepared for flight.
Foxes snuffed and looked about,
nudged each other with velvet snouts.
Buildings sighed as they lost their heat,
bats flitted out across the streets.
Me and my lady fair,
arms entwined walked on air.
I took Anette to her front door,
she kissed me chaste said, ‘je t’adore.’
She giggled as her Pa came out,
gave a shove and me a shout.
‘Stay away Tommy Bliss,
My daughter’s not for you to kiss.’
‘Not what she said,’ I smiled and bowed,
ran and joined the drunken crowd.
Past the clock-tower we all ran,
to the Pub called Marquis of Gram.
Stood in time three hundred years,
seen all the laughter and the tears.
Word had spread folks bought me beer,
welcomed me with mighty cheer.
I saw my brother followed the sounds,
‘we’re rich,’ he cried, ‘one thousand pounds.
Five hundred each what will we do?’
‘spend a bit,’ I said, ‘on brews.’
And spend we did throughout the evening,
knew we’d be the last a leavin’.
When at last our beers did flop,
the landlord said, ‘watch out for cops.
Keep it down don’t shout and yell
Or you’ll end up in Plods cold cell.’
A pretty girl said, ‘follow me,
I know a party and its free.’
So we stepped out into old Epsom town,
tried to keep our laughter down.
The clock struck twelve and bats took flight,
out the belfry into the night.
We walked a while past the Christ church,
me and my bro and the girls we lurched.
On the old common they say,
ghostly pilots still held sway.
Crashed a bomber in the war,
none survived through houses tore.
Tapped on windows through the night,
try and give young kids a fright.
Fright they were the ghostly aces,
blood and snot ran down there faces.
We’d heard the stories let them pass,
until we had to walk the grass.
Of the common land old as time,
we trekked on and on a shivering line.
Fearless me in a boxing ring,
not so much when ghosties sing.
The tallest girl gripped my arm,
said, ‘I’ll give you all protect me from harm.’
I looked at my big bro he winked,
as a girlie arm he linked.
We staggered on through the dew,
and came upon a cheery view.
The old vicarage lights ablaze,
lords above god be praised.
‘He’s gone to bed now all unclad,’
She added, ‘the vicar he’s my dad.’
Took a huge key from her purse,
dropped it in the dark and cursed.
‘Quiet,’ I whispered, ‘you’ll wake your Dad,’
‘Once gone,’ she said, ‘he’ll not wake bad.
The whisky truly knocks him out,
‘til the morn’ he’ll not be about.
We found the key then the lock,
it squealed and turned as if in shock.
The great oak door opened wide,
and we all tumbled fast inside.
Ate the food of congregations,
tried the whisky of many nations.
Tried the vicars daughter too,
game in all she tried to do.
A lot of kissing nothing more,
we were sixteen not thirty four.
Harmless fun through the night,
we heard the vicar stir took fright.
Hurried goodbye kisses forming,
then we walked back on the common.
Two in morn still stood tall,
god knows how we didn’t fall.
My brother Tim took my arm,
we staggered back across the farm.
Or once it was now church ground,
the night was filled with church yard sounds.
Willows weeping silent songs,
chattering insects righting wrongs.
And dreams of dead a gentle sigh,
and badgers shuffling on the Lye.
In the brook ducks quietly quacking,
fattened trout the water smacking.
Weasels voles and mice a skittered,
may bugs with their wings a chittered.
‘What was that?’ Tim said with dread,
‘shut up you fool it’s ghosts,’ I said.
‘Read the grave stones see the truth,
of so many who lost their youth.
Cyrus Williams died in a fire,
Jack Southern a famous liar.
Mary Bell a bit of a madam,
Sarah Leigh a bit of a sadden.
Names on graves and gone for ever,
but spirits still ran in the heather.
Tickled our calfs with their whispers,
massaged our soggy toes and blisters.
‘What was that?’ Tim gave a jump,
shreaked with fright and grabbed my rump.
‘Get your hands off Tim,’ I said,
‘It’s the love songs of the dead.’
We stood stock still listened a while,
a ghostly tune made me smile.
‘How’d do you know so much about ghosts?’
said my brother leaning on posts.
‘That’s a grave marker you have your arse on,’
I said, ‘quick duck down here comes the parson.’
Or warden whatever name they called him,
we hunkered down heard him walk in.
‘I see you boys you’d best come out,
he said stepped nearer shadow stout.
‘You’ll never catch us,’ I stood all brave,
‘be still,’ he said, ‘you’re on a grave.’
Tim cried out jumped to the side,
‘you fool,’ I said, ‘he’s taking you for a ride.’
The parson laughed, ‘you’re brave lads,
why are you here being bad?’
‘We’re walking home sir ,’I politely replied,
‘no harm done couldn’t get a ride.’
‘Why are we hearing singing?’ Tim said.
‘That’s the choirs of the dead.’
The parson replied, ‘don’t take fright,
they often sing on a summers night.’
‘Do you believe in God and songs from the earth?’
I asked adding, ‘for what it’s worth.’
‘There’s more out here than anyone knows,’
he replied and tapped his nose.
‘Think of spirits all around,
and souls and memories inter-bound.
Thousands of years of our people,
underneath their various steeples.
Death’s the end of our body but not the rest,
the singing you heard is from the blessed.
Echoes and memories of the past,
Like love the feelings everlast.
Go home to bed rest you boys,
try to do it without much noise.’
‘Thank you sir,’ we both replied,
in the parson’s hand a bottle I spied.
‘What are you doing now?’ I said,
‘Well as it happens I’ll drink to the dead.’
He continued, ‘yes I’ll sup a while,’
remember my dead wife’s lovely smile.
And if by chance I hear a song,
I’ll linger hard and linger long.
Imagine it’s my lovely Helen,
singing from her place in heaven.
Jim and I gave a wave,
set off walking through the graves.
Came to the road journey home,
Tim flattened his hair had no comb.
He said, ‘do you know where we’re a goin’,
have to walk past all the loony bins.
West Park, St Ebba’s, Horton too,
in those days groaning filled with crews.
Of injured folks all in the brain,
not the physical but mental pain.
We carried on down the road,
heard field mice rustling and hopping toads.
Heard night birds squawk mournful tunes,
and owls screech like raving loons.
‘Looney’s a disrespectful word,’
I said to Tim he hadn’t heard.
He gripped my arm said, ‘look right there,’
through the dark a staggering pair.
‘Are they drunk?’ I thought aloud,
maybe from the pub’s strange crowd.
And as they plainly came in sight,
two old ladies from the night.
‘Evening darlings,’ the smallest squawked,
‘what are you doing on our walk?’
‘Ma’am you seem far from houses,’
I said and added, ‘quiet as mouses.’
She laughed and said, ‘my name is Minnie,
and this here girl is my twinnie.’
The other curtseyed spun around,
nearly toppled to the ground.
They looked ancient old as time,
as I looked heard a bell chime.
‘That’s the alarm,’ Minnie said,
nurses have found our empty bed.
I looked across saw the asylum,
Minnie said, ‘escaped from our island.
Been there nigh on sixty years,
all the pain and all the tears.
You think we’re nutters you young man,
‘certainly not,’ I said, ‘what’s your plan.
‘A taste of freedom get out that dreamland,’
‘come on,’ I said, ‘take my hand.
Tim understood and grabbed the other,
old enough to be our great grandmother.
We stepped off the road into the woods,
into the nights neighborhood.
‘Say Minnie,’ I said, ‘what’s your friends name?’
She said, ‘my sister Daisy she’s completely insane.
Why I stayed all these years,
hold her hand and dry her tears.
Let’s find a dry place make like outlawry,
then I’ll tell you both my story.’
We found a spot under trees,
all got down on bended knees.
‘So,’ said Minnie, ‘do you have a smoke?’
gave my brother a friendly poke.
Pulled his Players from out the night,
gave them both a smoke and a light.
Minnie drew gave a sigh,
I saw a tear in her eye.
‘I wish I hadn’t spent my life in that place,
had enough no saving face.’
‘How’d you get there?’ my brother asked,
‘tell us your story that’s your task.
‘Daisy was mad our parents died,
why in the asylum she was taken inside.’
Minnie looked sad gave a weak smile,
‘she wouldn’t have survived on that old mile.
I was eighteen had to help her,
went up to a copper gave him a belter.
Screamed acted mad my reflection,
did enough to get a section.
Stayed with Daisy kept her safe,
couldn’t leave her a lonely waif.
Mental hospital they call it now,
lunatic asylum they disavowed.
But that’s what it was back in nineteen ten,
beat us both again and again.
Strapped us to beds fed us bread,
put electrodes on our heads.
Douse us in water nearly drown,
time and again dunk our heads down.
And the interference with ourselves,
can’t tell you more for my mental health.’
I put my hand over hers feeling blue,
Said, ‘Minnie you’re a hero that much is true.’
‘Maybe sometimes when I dream,’ she said,
‘know what young man I need my bed.
Can you take us home back to the gate,’
I said, ‘don’t want to take you back to your fate.’
‘We’ll be fine,’ she said, ‘it’s different now,
look after us well plenty of chow.’
She staggered to her feet let out a groan,
‘thanks for the smoke boys take us home.’
We walked them back paused said goodbye,
promised to visit bring some pie.
A big old male nurse gave us a scowl,
I said, ‘easy tiger do you growl.’
He gave a smile said, ‘sometimes maybe,’
thanks for looking after our ladies.’
‘You’re welcome,’ I said, ‘anytime,
we need to go way past our bedtime.’
‘It’s four a.m. he said, ‘you’re right,
safe journey boys as you go into the night.’
We walked again the booze out our systems,
looked carefully about not wanting to be victims.
Came to the high street our road home,
shops all shuttered no one roamed.
Flickering street lights moths on high,
twinkling stars caught our eyes.
Tim looked up, ‘do you believe there’s a heaven?’
‘not sure,’ I said, ‘on that I’m not betting.’
‘When you see those old ladies lovely but odd,
makes you question if there’s a god.
If there is why’s he left them,
in that dark and dusty asylum.
In dusty wards and darkened corridors,
all their lives had to be warriors.
Stay alert their own thoughts keep,
always scared when going to sleep.
But maybe God leaves them their for protection,
keep them safe give them affection.
It’s a big bad place out in the world,
look after the vulnerable our flag unfurl.
Make a stand keep them safe,
when they’re weak and their thoughts chafe.
Dad says its part of the NHS,
free health care for which we’re blessed.
He says life’s easy on the nineteen sixties wing,
I wonder what the future will bring.
Do you think all these hospitals will still be real,
or politicians make their dirty deals.’
‘Cheer up,’ I said, ‘look there’s the chapel,
do you fancy a breakfast apple?’
‘Why not,’ he said, ‘lets go a scrumping,’
climbed the wall our hearts a thumping.
Weslyan chapel old and grey,
but great orchard anytime of day.
I said, ‘think God minds if we nick his fruit?’
Tim said, ‘better than nicking his loot.’
All the money comes through these gates
ends up in the church’s plates.
Do they share it spread the joy,
not for these two young boys.
And that’s what puts the doubts in men,
the money the churches have again and again.
Acres of land beautiful palaces,
financial riches tied up by Daedaluses.
But still the poor come through the gates,
wait the churches tell their fates.
Prostrate themselves upon the floor,
still end up being poor.
And there they are say ‘fill our plates,
give us your money or you know your fate.
Easy for us so long to tell,
give us your money or go to hell.
Do as we say not as we do,
or our God will make you blue.
Listen to our lecture please,
or God will smite you to your knees.
Make sure not to lose your focus,
remember what God can do with locusts.
And on it goes stop no more,
pick on someone other than poor.
So if we borrow an apple or two,
will that leave God feeling blue.
Or would he chuckle say, ‘take them boys,
try and keep right down that noise.
There’s plenty here for all God’s creatures,
help keep fat off all the preachers.
They’re not me and I’m not them,
their words come from mouths of men.
Narrow minds and bullying words,
judgements always quite absurd.
If I’m real throughout the day,
find me in your own special way.
Don’t need churches glorious cathedrals,
your God was with you when primeval.
When we lived among the trees,
worshipped nature birds and bees.
All were one and one were all,
if one erred all take a fall.
Living in the light of day,
worship in a natural way.
Take and give to the land,
walk as one hand in hand.
Give thanks without money,
all together share the honey.
So boys know the tree’s your chapel,
the fruit is yours take the apple.
Tim and I took one each,
this wet land’s gentle peach.
‘Did you hear that voice?’ he said,
I smiled said, ‘it’s in your head.’
‘Who are we then what’s it about?’
‘We’re all the people roundabout.’
I said ‘and all the things that are in you,
Are all around and in me too.
All we’ve done and all our friends,
mold us help us never bend.
The warmth of strangers extend a hand,
welcome us into their band.
And that is all we have to do,
extend the hand of friendship to.
Try not arguments ferment,
friendship sharing all cement.’
We walked back into our home town,
saw a tramp sitting down.
In a doorway hungered place,
I gave my apple watched his face.
Hint of a smile as he took it,
unbelieving gently shook it
‘It’s fresh good mate I wish you well,
take a bite enjoy the smell.’
And as the dawn slowly broke,
the birds woke up among the oaks.
Shop fronts reflected darting clouds,
shutters up removing shrouds.
Paper boys began to cycle,
put their faith in good St Michael.
Leader of angels fight Gods tussles,
keep Satan away from young boys muscles.
But Satan had all gone to bed,
dogs nip at their calves instead.
As they hurtled through the dawn,
papers ready like pistols drawn.
Milkmen move in electric floats,
silently gliding on like boats.
Delivering milk all full fat,
leaving on the welcome mat.
From the station trains start shunting,
no steam now just electric jumping.
Take early birds who receive no pity,
hurtling into the dirty city.
Horses still up and down,
the high street frames the stable lad’s frown.
The early hour set on their face,
the horses trot keen to race.
Snorting leaving steaming piles,
wipe away the dustmen’s smiles.
As they see their shoes a punished,
while they collect the peoples rubbish.
Steel dustbins clang about their feet,
keep a clean and tidy street.
One bin each no excuse,
hardly any real refuse.
The undertaker’s gates open wide,
prepare the folk for final rides.
Black as crows in their top hats,
same destination for poor or fat.
At the bakers that glorious scent,
bread and loaves from heaven sent.
And the bakers mix the dough,
Baker’s hands go to and fro.
Mixing hard the wheat and flour,
produce fresh bread on the hour.
Bakers eyes look afar,
see beyond their delicate chore.
Know the mills and the streams,
where the flour fulfills dreams.
Feed the people inspiration,
built on muscle and perspiration.
This was God all around,
ordinary people life profound.
I looked towards this scene of joy,
the baker said, ‘want a donut boy?
Don’t be shy come on in,
look like you’ve been up to sin.’
‘Not really sir just the Carney,
fun and ale made us barney.’
If twas the season of the conkers,
folk would say we’re raving bonkers.’
‘Do you parents know you’re out,’
he said with a mighty shout.
‘We’re sixteen sir grown ups by half,’
the baker let out a stunted laugh.
‘I’ve forgotten more than you know lad,
of all you’ve done and all you’ve had.
And what I’ve learned,’ he gave a smile,
sit right here and listen a while.’
He gave us both a sugared gem,
our fingers made a sticky stem.
He sat next to us his belly splayed,
and on his lips his wise words played.
‘You might think it’s good to fight,
drink ale through the darkened night.
Take fair maids upon your knee,
tickle them and laugh with glee.
But remember this young lads,
all of them have their own Dads.
Dads who know all your tricks,
done themselves the politics.
So what I’m saying is be circumspect,
treat all people with respect.
Fight a little don’t do it sore,
look after the vulnerable and the poor.
And boys remember this,
there’s nothing wrong with chasing a kiss.
If it’s offered free and true,
then good things you will always accrue.
Work hard respect your brothers,
don’t put your God above all others.
But say a prayer every day,
make time for fun and play.
Be the best that you can be,
only that will set you free.
Life can be hard don’t ever bend,
If you err make amends.
If you do wrong put up your hands,
travel far to other lands.
Then you’ll learn in the sun,
your God has made us all as one.
Flesh and blood all good people,
all sit under their own steeple.
Only people choose to go bad,
choose good make no one sad.
And the greatest gift given from above,
Is that elusive thing called love.
Love all with an open heart,
that is how you play your part.
The baker stood said, ‘on your way,
I need to do some work today.’
We thanked him well and took a stroll,
our beds now our only goal.
We sneaked in through our back gate,
climbed the drainpipe to our fate.
Lumpy mattress on our bed,
this is what my brother said.
‘I love you Tommy that’s a fact,
let’s say a prayer our final act.
As we doze off to sleeper land,
close your eyes clasp your hands.
I closed my eyes my thoughts to keep,
right there and then fell asleep.