A Seance was held the other night,
For Godfrey Lewis from the Isle of Wight;
A Plumber by trade and was often found,
Fixing old Pipes about the Town.
So around they sat in deepest gloom
As Madam Clair began to Swoon,
Swaying and Weaving In her Chair;
Calling on Godfrey should he be there.
The People said it was a strange old sight;
To see a Medium in full flight:
Flowing Robes of Electric Blue
And the grazy Hair that Einstein grew.
Then in a High Pitched Voice she called aloud;
To a Native Chief called Morning Cloud.
\'We are calling on Godfrey is he here\'?
Which all assembled remembered dear.
Such gloomy faces did grace the Board,
Like the assembled Mob in the House of Lords.
Then from the mouth of Madame Clair
As if now Channeled from who knows where;
A curious Voice and all the Stranger;
To sound like \'Tonto\' in the \'Lone Ranger\'.
\'I have a message I must confide\',
\'From the Plumber Godfrey on the other side\' -
In all her years in the Spiritual game
And the many Plaudits that brought her fame;
Every Soul she summoned arrived first thing;
No Madcap excuses or Lead to swing.
\'Where is Godfrey for he\'s cutting it fine\' ;
\'I\'ve got Spirits waiting on the other line\'.
There was such a Silence you could slice with a knife;
But a look of understanding from his poor old Wife.
\'He said he can\'t make it as somethings cropped up\':
\'He\'ll be here on Tuesday at the earliest with luck\'.
So that\'s old Godfrey our departed friend:
And remained a Tradesman right to the end.