Lionel Groom

There is a man called Lionel Groom,

Who's view of life is Doom amongst Gloom.

No joy it's seems his Spirit has gave,

A face some say like a 'Well Kept Grave'.

He's a glass 'Half Full' , a misery-guts,

Curdle the milk with his doleful looks.

His choice of dress is Victorian Wear,

Completely black with a Mourners flair.

And if by chance you pass his home,

But heaven forbid your not alone,

You'll find it stood, Charles Addams style:

A Blackened, Decrepit, Ancient pile.

And his voice bares down like a Far-Off sound,

Of distant Thunder closer bound,

To stop the blood within its flow,

A Temperature that reads of 6 - below.

His Vehicle of choice for cruising about town,

Is the bleakest car that will astound:

A Clapped-Out Hearse, a Vintage Piece;

The final ride when labours cease.

And is he Married Old Master Groom,

A purity of light to fill the room,

To place a hand on Fevered brow,

Burn Scented Candles should taste allow.

The answer it seems is a definite NO;

For in a Heart of frost no Flowers will grow.

So- There we have, Old Lionel's charms,

Nosferatu's brother in arms.

But does he have a job you cry,

To Wile-Away the hours by,

To sweat and Toil for his 'Daily Bread',

The Meat of life when all is said.

Well - I'll leave you with this merry thought -

He's a 'Children's Entertainer' at a Beach Resort.