The Dirty Drunkard

The cold night wind had started to roar,

The rain too had started to pour

People might have started to snore,

A sudden knock came at my door.

Through my window, I peered,

I saw a hunchbacked figure

Thinking twice I rose,

On opening the door, he said, “I am Mr. Oak.”

A drunkard he was,

Too dirty and smelly he was,

And smiling, he said,

“My wife is Mrs. Red.

I have lost her somewhere,

But I don’t know where

I met her there, behind that pine tree,

And now they say, ‘there rests she.’

Tomorrow night,

Sharp at nine,

I will lay there dead,

With my Red”

Saying so,

He started to go

Scratching my head,

I went to bed.

The next day night,

I went there with fright.

There I saw two graves, Oak and Red,

Dated a decade back.