sacred and secular

grey pussy willow catkins

Today is Palm Sunday – the Sunday before Easter, when the Christian church remembers Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey and the welcoming crowds strewing palm fronds in his path. In the UK, there are no native palms, so traditionally we use willow branches; I remember as a child picking branches of grey pussy willow catkins to decorate the local chapel my family attended.

This year, whether it’s due to climate change, the vagaries of the English weather, or simply a later Easter than sometimes, the sleek fur catkins are already fluffy and yellow with pollen.

pussy willow catkins yellow with pollen

Looking from a more worldly perspective, today is also April 5th. And that means that, in the UK, tomorrow is the start of a new tax year.

There’s plenty of doom and gloom everywhere now with respect to finance, business and the economy, so I think the best thing I can do is to post something rather more light-hearted.

Here, then, is some doggerel that really is of little or no account.

Calculating love

I think that I’m in love with my accountant:
the neat cells of his spreadsheet have me sold;
I wish that he’d appreciate my assets
but I fear my bottom line just leaves him cold.

I think that I’m in love with my accountant,
a master of that “double-entry” stuff.
But his accruals are the opposite of kindness –
he shows no interest and his lack of goodwill’s tough.

I think that I’m in love with my accountant,
while he thinks my love’s a capital offence:
he calls me “liability”, gives stock answers;
“aged debtors” is a joke at my expense.

Though I think that I’m in love with my accountant
I don’t need prophets to foretell my destiny:
the trend is clear; there’s no reciprocation.
I’m headed for emotional bankruptcy.

I think that I’m in love with my accountant
but the forecasts show my dreams will end in tears.
There’s no benefit in kind, though I’m compliant;
I’m gearing up for loss down through the years.

I’m sure that I’m in love with my accountant
though, on balance, all my efforts come up short;
when he talks to me about amortisation
I will focus on amor and not la mort.

 
1967 ship ha'penny coin

Author: don't confuse the narrator

Exploring the boundary between writer and narrator through first person poetry, prose and opinion

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