We came to Whitby to stay in a house
It reminds me (quite queerly) of a poem with a mouse
That contained flowers of blue and of red
This contains Annie, and me (as i said)
It also contains Henry ( a friendly old hound)
and Delores von Snicken a chicken we found.
I have no excuses and write as I can
And make it all up when my poem doesn’t scan.
A Doctor came round, and strangely he said:
“Tut-tut, I am sorry to find you in bed.
Just say ‘one-Nine-nine’ while I look at your feet….
And then I suggest you go out in the street”
Annie looked round, out the window and cried
“the view WOULD be better if we tried it outside”.
But I yawned and said maybe but better than bed
Was a sofa of blue and a sofa of red.
The Doctor stood frowning and shaking his head,
And he took up his shiny silk hat as he said:
“What the patient requires is a change,” and he went
To see some chrysanthemum people in Kent.
I lay there a while, and I gazed at the view
and reached the conclusion that everyone knew,
I knew there was something I wanted instead
Of a sofa (of blue) and a sofa (of red).
We wrapped ourselves up and walked down the street
It was sunny, not rainy, nor snowy or sleet
We stood by the steps and took a good breath
And hoped that the climb wouldn’t end with a death.
I stood at the steps, and I said with a sigh:
“I suppose all these people know better than I.
It was silly, perhaps, but I did like the view
From the sofa (of red)and the sofa (of blue).”
So we went up the steps, we climbed ‘twards the top
And I ran out of breath but still didn’t stop
Dizziness hit me and what ran through my head
Was the sofa (of blue) and the sofa (of red)
I turned and surveyed the harbour top view
And realised something profound and quite new.
That Delores the chicken (a foundling as said)
Had the run of the sofas of blue and of red.
Nothing… but nothing could make this end good
It just doesn’t rhyme or scan as it should
Delores the chicken just isn’t true
But we still have our sofas of red and of blue.