Old Geoffrey was cremated there today,
But weeping wasn’t wanted, and was checked.
The minister kept chins up, though we prayed
With chins down, dictated by etiquette.
Where were my flowers? I was quite upset
They weren’t delivered. Geoffrey was let down;
Some incompetent floral bureaucrat
Ignored instructions from Manchester town
With respect to our bouquet. His renown,
However, undiminished, as his day
On this earth is finished. We’ll resurrect
His memory, though his ashes are blown.
And so, as cruel April turns to May,
I’ll raise a glass of cider in respect.
Tue 29 Apr 2008
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