An Ill Wind : 9 stanzas each of 4 lines of another tall tale from old Bob about the strongest wind he’d ever experienced.
Old Bob shook his head with a sigh of remorse
As if he had lost something dear,
While the drinkers nearby stood in silent dismay
At the death of another cold beer.
But with cash in his hand and new strength to his voice.
He ordered them all a fresh round,
And the betting was heavy that he’d soon tell a tale;
The odds were a “bob” to a “pound”.
Well the pundits were right, for he took a deep breath
And then transfixed them all with a stare;
While those who had thought they might soon get away
Now knew that they hadn’t a prayer.
“I recollect well” the old fellow began,
As the wind whistled round the old pub,
“The time me, Maggot Bourke and old Pommy Fred
Nearly karked it out there in the scrub.