The Manse That Fell Apart


The manse that fell apart,
The manse that fell apart,
Appliances that spark,
In the manse that fell apart,

Carpet psycodellia,
Your retainers beware,
It’s a snap shot from the seventies,
Woodchip everywhere,

Don’t park your carcass on the sofa,
Or trust the dripping tap,
It might explode at any moment,
And the seating might collapse,

The manse that fell apart,
The manse that fell apart,
You wouldn’t risk a fart,
Or the manse might fall apart,

And the dust that you buffet,
Drifts by in a cloud,
And when it stops and it settles,
The chairs wear it as a shroud,

Draw back from the curtains,
If you value life or limb,
Because I couldn’t bet for certain,
On the insect life within,

The manse that fell apart,
The manse that fell apart,
The moths know martial arts,
At the manse that fell apart,

It’s not a place for running,
So moderate your pace,
I knew a man before,
Who got his foot trapped in the staircase,

Temperatures can reach,
Those of Portugal and Spain,
When the cooker in the kitchen,
Combusts in balls of flame,

The manse it fell apart,
The manse it fell apart,
And the dangers can’t be named,
In the rubble that remained.

Gwen

A little poem I wrote on holiday while staying in a vacant Manse lent to us by a friend. It’s a fairly accurate description, but we did have a lovely time. xx

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About Gwen and Elinor

Two bloging buddies who love tea and biscuits.
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