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Separated At Birth, Part I
Separated at birth,
Mother dead,
Grandparents too old,
Father fled.
Up for adoption,
However, apart.
Tom became a Johnson,
Tim became a Hart.
The Johnsons lived in Chelsea,
The Harts in Camden Town,
The Johnsons lived in high luxury,
The Harts much lower down.
Tom was raised,
With nanny and tutor,
Then Eton and Oxford,
Then debutantes' suitor.
Tim grew up
All by himself,
Truanted school,
Risked his health.
Tom had all he wanted,
Parents indulging every whim,
Wealth, contacts and good looks,
A fabulous life awaited him.
Tim had nothing but his looks,
Parents, battered and beaten by life,
A home blighted by alcoholism,
And constant domestic strife.
Tom followed Dad into the City,
Married into aristocracy,
Became a safe Tory candidate,
A job in Her Majesty's Treasury.
Tim followed Dad into drinking,
Fathered a child but left the mother,
Saw no point in working,
Drifted along from one pub to another.
Twelve years later, in the Daily Mail,
Two reports lay, side by side;
One about the new Prime Minister,
The other a victim of suicide.
The reports were of 39-year-old twins;
One who had achieved
Beyond his wildest dreams,
And one of life tragically relieved.
As Tim Hart left his limousine
And entered number 10,
A funeral was being prepared,
Tom Johnson's requiem.
Bio:
A 61-year-old retired teacher from Cheshire, UK, my poems are the result of lifetime's journey of learning and experience; a journey that still goes on.
(author retains copyright)
.
Separated At Birth, Part I
Separated at birth,
Mother dead,
Grandparents too old,
Father fled.
Up for adoption,
However, apart.
Tom became a Johnson,
Tim became a Hart.
The Johnsons lived in Chelsea,
The Harts in Camden Town,
The Johnsons lived in high luxury,
The Harts much lower down.
Tom was raised,
With nanny and tutor,
Then Eton and Oxford,
Then debutantes' suitor.
Tim grew up
All by himself,
Truanted school,
Risked his health.
Tom had all he wanted,
Parents indulging every whim,
Wealth, contacts and good looks,
A fabulous life awaited him.
Tim had nothing but his looks,
Parents, battered and beaten by life,
A home blighted by alcoholism,
And constant domestic strife.
Tom followed Dad into the City,
Married into aristocracy,
Became a safe Tory candidate,
A job in Her Majesty's Treasury.
Tim followed Dad into drinking,
Fathered a child but left the mother,
Saw no point in working,
Drifted along from one pub to another.
Twelve years later, in the Daily Mail,
Two reports lay, side by side;
One about the new Prime Minister,
The other a victim of suicide.
The reports were of 39-year-old twins;
One who had achieved
Beyond his wildest dreams,
And one of life tragically relieved.
As Tim Hart left his limousine
And entered number 10,
A funeral was being prepared,
Tom Johnson's requiem.
Bio:
A 61-year-old retired teacher from Cheshire, UK, my poems are the result of lifetime's journey of learning and experience; a journey that still goes on.
(author retains copyright)
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