Saturday, 31 May 2014

Poet's cornered



'Well, if you're sure you can't direct me toward the 57th Annual Rain Soaked Cliff Top Poetry Awards, I'll be on my way,' said Horace.

And the flock all shook their heads.

'Well...........................................................bye then,' mumbled Horace.

'Wait a minute,' bleated Flossie.

Horace hesitated.

'Did you say the 57th Annual Rain Soaked Cliff Top Poetry Awards?'

'I did,' said Horace.

'......................................Never heard of them!' continued Flossie. 'Pity though, I quite like a bit of poetry.'

'Really?' asked Lefty.

'Oh, yes,' replied Flossie. 'As long as it doesn't drift off into anything too metaphysical.'

'I've always been more of a short story person,' said Lefty. 'Just at the end of the day, to help me settle down.'

'It's odd isn't it,' mused Flossie, 'how we're all drawn towards different literary forms as a means of escapism.'

'Mum likes a novel,' added Lefty.

'Does she?'

'Mmm! Difficult to get some of it in large print though.'

'True!' agreed Flossie.

'...........................................................................................Is that it?' asked Horace.

'Sorry, yes,' replied Flossie. 'Sorry to have detained you. Best of luck on finding your awards.'

'.........Take care then,' mooed Horace.

But mooing wasn't the right thing to do....not the right thing at all.

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