A humourous poem.

When I think of it now it all seems so clear.
Dad’s hidden persona lain hidden for years.
The clues were all there if I’d only just thought,
Using reasoned deductions Conan Doyle might have sought…
Pieced together the clues, like an old jigsaw puzzle,
of an old family trait that they all tried to muzzle;

  1. My father’s strange pallor, his non-human hue,
  2. (it’s strange to admit but he’s really quite blue)
  3. His colourful language that leaves me aghast
  4. That clumps of blue whiskers clog the drain in the bath.
  5. A little white hat on the hook on the door
  6. A dozen white trousers laying strewn on the floor…

It fills me with dread (it may fill you with mirth).
There’s a very good chance my dad is a smurf…

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