|
On
the starting grid, zimmers in place,
30
old codgers stand, ready to race.
Flat
caps sporting their racing number,
But
their minds are on another slumber.
All
in a line many half dead,
Some
even senile in the head.
Legs
long since seized, so knackered up,
Past
their sell by dates, not the full cup.
Determined
to outwit the others on their Zimmer,
There's
one more sprightly called Harry Rimmer.
Harry
came to win the race,
He
thinks his new Zimmer is really ace!
Seems
a foregone conclusion before it starts,
It
will see the whole lot off, the silly
old farts.
The
traffic lights change from red to green,
The
race of Zimmer's has to be seen!
Race
across the road, to collect their pension,
Before
the post office locks them, in detention.
The
zebra crossing their race track,
The
loser turned out to be poor old Jack!
Zimmer
baby Zimmer on the stairway of desire,
You
got pensioned off and had to retire!
They
dream of legs a-new and Zimmer's redundant,
To
be fighting fit with vitality abundant
But
who won the wacky race?
Harry
Rimmer on Zimmer Ace!
Such
are the Zimmer Racers Brigade,
On
motorised Zimmer's they got it made!
~&~
Copyright:
Kazytc 2007
~&~
|
