Fred was an old guy with wrinkly hands
He sat on a bench, by the church, near my Nan’s
He had a limp in his walk and a turn in his eye
He never spoke out, just watched people go by

Fred was the type that no one understands
He’d push on his stick to get up when he stands
His stick held a diamond, his neck held a scar
He wore rainbow trousers that looked quite bizarre

Fred, he had stories from back in the day
Of the places he’d travelled to, far, far away
Got the limp in his leg while escaping from hell
He tripped on a demon while casting a spell

The turn in his eye was from fighting a gypsy
Bare knuckle style while drinking and tipsy
The diamond he stole from an old pirate galleon
He swam to the shore before they could hang him

Magic was sown in the thread of his pants
He said it changed colour to remind him to dance
He said “keep it secret” I’ll never know why
He said “Please don’t tell them ‘til after I die”

Fred was an old guy with wrinkly hands
He sat on a bench, by the church, near my Nan’s
Today that churchyard filled with roses and violets
Placed on Fred’s grave, by dancing gypsies & pirates

Ged Thompson.