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Lackenby the Elder

I know we've all got older,
We are talking years not weeks,
But I just can't get my head around
Old Lackenby growing his Leeks.

This connoisseur of language,
Comrade of valued worth,
Just doesn't strike me as
A son of Mother Earth.

I can imagine him in situ
With his allotment crowd
Leaning on his spade
Addressing them out loud.

And talking to his Leeks
Telling them they really know
It really does make good sense
So grow you B's grow.

Yes, that's the answer
It really really must
For he was ever the expert
With just  the mot juste.

Then all his toil finished
I can see him at the bar
Regaling his old mates
And consuming the odd jar.

Yes that's the way it has to be
As week after week after week
Old Lackenby just stands there
And charms his champion Leeks

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