Unto Us…


Somewhere at sometime
They committed themselves to me
And so, I was!
Small, but I WAS!
Tiny in shape
Lusting to live
I hung in my pulsing cave.
Soon they knew of me
My mother – my father
I had no say in my being
I lived on trust
And love
Tho’ I couldn’t think
Each part of me was saying
A silent, “Wait for me
I will bring you love!”
I was taken
Blind, naked defenceless
By the hand of one
Whose good name
Was graven on a brass plate
In Wimpole Street,
And dropped on the sterile floor
Of a foot operated plastic waste bucket.
There was no Queens Counsel
To take my brief.
The cot I might have warmed
Stood in Harrods shop window.
When my passing was told
My father smiled
No grief filled my empty space
My death was celebrated
With two tickets to see Danny La Rue
Who was pretending to be a woman
Like my mother was.

by Spike Milligan

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