Silas of the lambs

Let’s see if Silas Poggenpohl
can put our minds at rest,
in the matter of the fifteen men
on a dead man’s chest.

Tell us, Silas, if you will,
exactly what you saw.
Even minor details
can be crucial to the law.

— Well, Oi were walkin ‘ome on Tuesdee,
rat-arsed as a koite,
when Oi perceived (is that the word?)
a most perdigious soight.

Blow moy brains and tweak moy nose,
roight there on the road,
were a bloated dead cardarver
wot looked just loike a toad.

Oi knew it were a man, though,
cos ‘e wore a sheepskin ’at.
You don’t often see a toad
in an ‘at loike that.

— But what about the fifteen men
you reported on his chest?
Is your statement truthful,
or just some shepherd’s jest?

— Well, Oi din’t ezactly count ‘em,
fifteen is a guess.
You can’t expect percision
in a shepherd’s wilderness.

Oi’m not edercated
like you lot in the law.
All Oi do is pass on to you
wot Oi think Oi saw.

And Oi think Oi saw ‘bout fifteen men,
dancin’ on ‘is chest,
though they moight ‘ave been the buttons
on ‘is regimental vest.

Just cos Oi talk funny,
(and this ‘ere poet makes it worse)
don’t mean that Oi’m a-jestin’
with you learned legal Sirs.

— Thank you, Mr Poggenpohl,
we have no further questions.
We find the poet guilty
of appalling condescension.



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