I'd love a country mansion made of stone,
just like the one in To the Manor Born;
a palace that was mine and mine alone,
surrounded by a green and rolling lawn.
I'd lay in bed surveying fields so lush
and contemplate what I should do today;
sip tea brought to me by my yellowplush—
perhaps a spot of polo or croquet?
Alas, inside my mouth when I was born,
there was no sign at all of silver spoon,
and any cash I get come Monday morn
is well and truly gone by Tuesday noon.
It pays to make the most of simple joys;
the rest I'll disregard as so much noise.
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Author Notes
Yellowplush: (n.) a footman.
Photo by simka (https://www.panoramio.com/photo/10751353) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons
Thanks for reading.
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