The Occupants of Flat 1a

Creative Inspired...

On every morn I start the day in quite the most peculiar way,
at 10:15 a herb will burn,

the toast and tea shall wait their turn.

The night has passed and what a night,
two occupants got up to fight.

The reason for,

I am unsure

but one still lays upon the floor.

He hasn't moved since half past four,
like drowned and washed up on the shore.

I reminisce on days gone by
when quite the larger house was I.

The regent prince was on the throne
and for a gent I made a home.

Whom to his wealth he was betrothed,
His poor old wife he did so loath,

So mistresses he entertained
and wenches he would do the same.

The servants he would badly treat,
to him, no more than market meat.

A slice of bread he'd give to eat,
and all except the dog he'd beat.

The merchants in the courts he'd meet
to barter with on captured fleet.

In parliament he held a seat,
until he took a mass defeat.

The vagrants over ran the street,
to pastures new he did retreat.

A daunting fate I was to meet,
sold with barely a receipt.

Sliced in two
And then in four,

pierced by bells upon the door.

Decadent I was no more,
Let to sailors and their whores.

Witness to a patriots cause,
blitzed in Gods forsaken wars.

For years in dormant did I lay,
for restoration I would pray.

"Sold" the auctioneer would say,
and my return was underway.

So as you see me here today,

I have accepted come what may,

and still upon the floor does lay,
The occupants of flat 1a.

Submitted by David, The Collective.

TheChesterfieldCollective