Except for one,
I think it's called 'The Lion and Albert',
And the only reason I find it funny
Is because of the memories it conjures
Up in my head,
Away from Blackpool,
And the fresh air and fun.
I can hear one of my biggest friends
Reading the poem to a group of children
Myself included (Where did you think I got the memory?
From a Pensieve?)
And not having to fake the required accent
As the group of children had to,
Because we are from Kilkenny,
And we talk flat.
And I can smell, hmm,
I can smell fresh paint,
But this is the only place it smells sweet.
And I see little me,
I remember that day well.
(Actually, I only remember the moments in this place. But I digress.)
That was in Sixth Class I think.
(The beginning of the end, but we'll get to that later.)
And now the poem is over,
And the memory is gone.
But now that I think about it,
Isn't it a little pathetic that I have to read a poem to make myself happy?
And now that I think about it a little bit more,
No, it isn't.
Isn't that what comic poems are for?
But now I've remembered -
They're not funny.