Gordon W. Belling

THE SHORT STRAW

In life’s game who will win?
You know, who will not keep his skin.
Could it be from a lucky draw,
Or bad luck charm the person wore.

Was their final number up? Yeah sure.
If that’s true then who keeps the score?
Who will be drawing the short straw?
Well I have found theories galore.

Some people will see what’s in store,
As others just pass on in awe.
I don’t wish to cause a furore,
But have a desire to reach the core.

I won’t keep saying lest I bore,
But have set myself one hard chore.
I’ve scratched my butt and paced the floor,
And then banged my head on the door.

I wrote it down a few times more,
And slept on it with hearty snore,
Which irked my wife who rudely swore,
And now my ribs are bruised and sore.

My heart I have need to outpour,
For I had been sent off to war,
And have seen sights with blood and gore.
My lost mates did not draw a straw.

Now I sit by the ocean shore,
And like to hear the mighty roar.
So thin the good old patience wore;
My notes I ripped and tore,
And threw the lot into the bin.
Anew, I will begin.