The British
love their heritage,
Their pomp
and pageantry;
And nothing
suits them better than
An
anniversary –
An excuse
for a toast and a flag on a pole,
Or a plaque,
or to plant a tree.
Every day of
the year belongs to a saint
Or a much
more colourful sinner:
Someone died,
or someone was born
King Alfred
burnt the dinner,
Or something
remarkable happened, or
The West
Indies brought on a spinner.
But the
dullest day in all the year
Is the nineteenth
of February,
For nothing
of note took place today
As far as I
can see….
Nigel Forde
Which just goes to show he never reeds Messymimi's blog -http://messymimismeanderings.blogspot.com/
Thanks for the link! It's not quite the 19th here yet, but soon, and yes, stuff happened.
ReplyDeletePerfect and Messymimi gets every holiday ever known to mankind.
ReplyDeleteEven if something *did* happen on that day, I still love this poem!
ReplyDelete