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Here's Alison: Adopt A Polly

Alison Ross fires off a poem from the hip.

You sit there in pain miserable and blue
Need a hip replacement, in fact you need two.

The health system stinks. Your chances are few
But, I’ve got this idea, on what you could do.

Suppose you adopt, a daughter called Jenny
Your problems would cease, you wouldn’t have any.

Cause no way in this world, as Shipley’s dear dad,
Would you sit there and suffer, when your hips are so bad.

She’d call in Bill English, and give him a rocket,
"Arrange Daddy’s Op, but not out my pocket."

In no time at all the op would be over
You’ll sit there and grin, thinking you are in clover.

But alas and alack, you may not have heard
Your ‘Super" is shrinking, she’s one cunning bird.

HER, pound of flesh, she’ll extract to the ful
So perhaps you had better, not be a fool.

But there’s others in the hive, perhaps even Helen
It makes the mind boggle, but still, there’s no telling,

She may have a heart, in that skinny frame,
Could be that "Dad," would be more than a name.

So adopt you a daughter, but not June May or Molly
Your chances are better if you get you a Polly

But whatever you do, you must be. quite sane
Don’t be stupid and adopt, one Alamein.

Girls might be o.k. but you might like a son,
A millionaire would do, say John Banks for one.

He surely would relate to the family Pacific,
All gruesome details, he’d be quite specific.

But if you cannot adopt, then get yourself blotto
And stay that way… until you win Lotto

You can then thumb your nose, at the Beehive crowd
Have your op, all in private, and laugh long and loud!


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