Poetry

The Daddy Long Legs and Me!

A true story of true love,

Truly strange love as well.

One insect, one human,

The Daddy Long Legs and Mel.

It happened one morning,

In June, I recall,

This tale of romance,

Longlegged and tall.

Flew in through your window

And down on your desk,

A Crane Fly named Dougie

Who looked quite grotesque.

Long limbed and lanky,

A rare sight to behold.

Already a Daddy

Just three hours old.

But Dougie was special

A bizarre little thing,

Whose remarkable talent

Was to tap-dance, and sing.

So he cleared his throat

And tied on his shoes

Put on his top-hat

And started singing the blues.

There was no mistake,

And no note was flat.

A flawless performance

From the insect plus hat.

It’d be wrong to suggest

It was love at first sight

But love at first sound?

Well, you’re probably right.

But no relationship exists

Through song along.

No matter how sweet the sound

Of Dougie’s baritone.

They had to sit down

And have a quick chat

About joint bank-accounts

And naming the cat.

It’d be called McWhiskers

And eat only fish.

But, actually, this cat story

Is a bit, erm, pointless.

So back to the tale

Of Dougie and Lowe,

The two hottest lovers

Since Juliette and Romeo.

They moved at such speed

You just couldn’t understand.

The trans-species marriage

Was already being planned.

Ceremony in Paris

Honeymoon in Rome.

Stag-do in Prague

Baby-Shower at Home.

They would have two children

Called Ebony and Paul,

Who’d play with McWhiskers,

The big cute furball.

The sky was the limit

And the future was theirs.

They’d be the happiest couple

Since Sonny and Cher.

Nothing could stop them,

Until they finally realised

That Dougie was an insect

That very VERY quickly dies.

Tears started flowing

And Mel did weep.

A love so rare,

But a cut so deep.

Together, they embraced

And the crying was hushed,

But when Mel let go

Well, she found Dougie...crushed.

Not crushed spiritually

Or in the emotional way.

He was deader than dead;

A Crane Fly puree.

All that was left,

That didn’t go splat,

Were six dancing shoes

And his little top-hat.

Some call it destiny

Others call it fate.

I’d call love

Turned into heartbreak.

When life gives you lemons

You should know what to do

And if life gives you Dougie

Well, that’s sorted, too.

Don’t make all these plans

Then kill him to death.

It’s just not right nice

To snuff out his last breath.

The moral of this poem?

I don’t think there’s one.

Just don’t kill a Daddy Long Legs

If he sings you a song.

Tom Stoker