by yoma green

Created on: May 26, 2007   Last Updated: July 29, 2009

'Billy Whispers'

Billy Whispers worked at the library. Books his specialty.
He kept the noise down all day long,
As he quietly sipped at his tea;
He even dipped his crisps in the cup, so they wouldn't make a crunch. Loyal to the end was he.
Right down to the, tiniest munch.
He knew the library inside out; no one knew more it's said.
He'd worked there over thirty years,

Scientifically he'd read.
But now his job was on the line, they needed someone young.
Billy whispers had grown much too old, but still he held his tongue.
Billy whispers kept shelves clean: the windows clear as
Crystal. He'd done his job; he'd given his all.
But now they were sending him to Bristol.
His golden handshake had arrived, directors coming in.
To put old whispers on the heap,
So he grabbed the paper bin.
He climbed up on his desk of oak, then with a wooden spoon,
He banged and clanged to make a din,
As members fled the room:
Directors pleaded all unheeded, whispers just clanged more,
Shouting, why don't you all bugger off?
I don't work here anymore.
The new bloke entered, Cheshire grin and introduced himself.
But Billy whispers stared at him,
And clobbered him by the shelf.
Whispers whispered in his ear, some tips I'll give to you.
Take this bin and start right now, just bang it with your shoe.
Then Billy whispers left the building, never seen again.
And sadly sat upon park bench,
And cried into the rain.
On days like this as you pass by; you'll see a stain from a tear.
And carved upon the arm it says. Billy whispers was here.

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