A Tale of Truth and Lies
A wise old Irishman by the name of O’Flynn
once stood on the stoop of “The Olde Sailor’s Inn”
and he cried in remorse for his most sorrowful sin
but alas, ’bout his tale, now shall where I begin?
T’was on the third of September in Nineteen and Ten
or perhaps t’was November as I think again.
My memory was better far a ways back and when
as was most of meself as I recall of me then!
But less I digress let me now make amends
and get on with the tale without lies or emends.
If you seek out the most honest and truthful of friends
whilst some would suggest, some would say he pretends.
For O’Flynn as you’ll see was a man of his words
and a politico for sure with more feathers than birds
he could convince a good bishop his droppings weren’t turds
and if they’d be heeded become but the sweetest of curds.
And so that it was that on that fateful day
on the 16th of April or was it the 2nd of May,
that the honorable, sorrowful O’Flynn had his say
on the stoop at the inn by the head of the bay?
For you see that this good man or some would say not
had said to some, but a little, but to some said a lot
and, in both situations on the truth he’d spoke naught
or if there had been some it was surely stretched taut.
But on now to his tears that had flowed to the ground
at the “Olde Sailor’s Inn” and the precincts surround
and I’ll tell you what happened each sight and each sound,
that is, if and when, my remembrance be found!
Feb. 15, 2017
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