On a high rock

On a high rock in a lonely sky
Where pink waves bloomed and wild birds flying high
Called down to the Grockles, ‘We see you so free,
Sitting and smiling beside the splashed sea,
Let us come down and park in the lee
Of your firm little bodies and talk seriously
About weather and rice and the killing of mice,
And how to tell if somebody’s nice……’ -
Sat the Grocklemebob,
A bit of a blob,
Flouncy and bouncy, not up to the job
Of watching and waiting for lonely folks souls
As they hustled the seas in tin-cans and bowls,
Making the best of their last great journey
As they sailed the great wilds of the Strawberry sea:
And the Grocklemebob, so lonely and free,
Not up to the job, sipping mint tea,
Cried in its cup, ‘God bless my eyes!
I’ve sat in this spot, under these skies,
Counting the pigeon-things, counting my toes,
Counting the Grockles and the God-Only-Knows
That whisper and hisper and cuddle their claws,
Deep in the sea-trap, opening their maws-
Oh my God!’ cried the Grock, ‘I think I can see,
The purpose of Lonely, the purpose of Me:
It’s Ever So Simple, Ever So Twee - !’
And collapsing in sorrow and mopping its brow,
The Grock let out an unruly howl,
Beating its bim-bams against a wee wall
It had built once a time in case it should fall in the sea -

Which it did:

And rolling and bloating it spun with the tide,
Whilst the God-Only-Knows hoped it had died,
Until washed up and tired it hit the sea-shore,
Rockled some Grockles (who then asked for more),
And staggering, swaggering, melancholy,
It climbed on its rock and had some more tea,
Shouting in sorrow,
‘I did it - just me!’
Counting my lonely days under this sky -
I was the one who said never die !
And now all I hear is, ‘Ever so twee!’ -
Is this all that Life thinks of poor little me ?
Watching the Grockles, the God-Only-Knows,
Washing my bim-bams, counting my toes -
Watching and waiting for lonely folks souls
As they hustle the seas in tin-cans and bowls:
Is it a wonder I fell in surprise
And splashed in the Dirty right up to my eyes,
And wizzled around, all bloated and free -
Is it a wonder I drink endless tea ?
Haven’t you pity on a Grocklemebob
That sits here quite placid, doing its job :
Haven’t you pity on lonely folks souls
As they hustle the seas in tin-cans and bowls?’

And breaking down in despair
The Grock combed back its brick-yellow hair,
Preparing to leap in the grandiose style
From its rock
With the most tragic smile -
But it stopped:

For it heard in the distance, ever so faint,
A teaspoon or two, ever so quaint,
Bobbing along in the gaps between waves
A tinkerley tune, two octaves, two staves:
And there in a tin-can right next to a bowl,
A flum-flummoxed fish and a lonely man’s soul,
Playing together for all they were worth
As they sang out the harmonies of this simple verse :

‘We who are two had once had a third,
Taken away by a pigeon-thing bird
That flew from the sky and aimed for the fish
In the hands of the third that’s now that bird’s dish.’

And the Grocklemelob, a bit of a blob,
Flouncy and bouncy, not up to the job,
Waved its hands high and shouted a word,
Beckoning the two that had once had a third
To come hither and listen and proudly observe
It doing its job (quite absurd!)
As it rollicked its toes across the great rock,
Preparing the two for a bit of a shock
By abstractly gazing and muttering schlock
About meetings and memos and counting its stock :
It stopped, held itself high,
Wiped a tear from each weeping eye,
Stood thoughtful, looked up, exhaled a great sigh,
Put finger to nose and said, ‘By the by -
I hope you can see, it’s not up to me,
I’m actually quite pleasant, your cup of tea,
But I do have this job, which is a bit of a sod’ -
And with this they looked up with a bit of a nod -
‘My duty’s quite plain, bit of a pain,
Hoping to change it, try a new game,
Ever so sorry for this bit of worry
But please head off home, don’t want to moan -’
And pointing a hand in the direction of land
The Grock made it clear that they must understand
To be off ! -

A discreet little cough,
It flollopped about, tried to look tough,
But the two that were three, paddling vigorously,
Were heading away, unwilling to stay,
And the Grock with a sigh looked up at the sky
And resumed its long days with a sad little cry,
Bemoaning its fate with a watery eye
Convinced it would stay there ’till the day it did die -

Which it did.

And the times it had spent became a lament
As it whispered and sighed about dreams that had died,
But nobody cared, and the years it had shared
With the skies and the seas became memories
It took to its grave in the loneliest of ways,
Saddened and slow, unwilling to go:

And no one was there when it cast off all care
And left shadows behind in the land of the blind,
And the grief that was shown was less than a moan
By the wind as it shook with a delicate look
All those stones it had placed in the sweetest of ways
As reminder to some of the things it had done -

And where it is now, and the why and the how
Of the life that it led can never be said,
For nobody knows why the wind blows,
Or the seas and the sand go hand in hand,
And nobody cares if another soul shares
Its dust with the skies, or if that dust lies
In water, on land - we must understand
In the final demand we’re alone :

And our lives once begun flit under the sun
As our days in a haze slip neatly all ways,
And what’s there to say ? We none of us stay
For a moment too long, and there’s just this to be done:

Let us pray.