Neddy O'Shea

A poem by Roger Turner

Neddy O'Shea

Was standing one day,
For he had nothing better to do.
He had chewed all the clover,
Several times over,
And was now admiring the view.

When from behind came a racket,
And the sound of a packet,
Being opened by a person he knew.
From the sweet spicy smell,
He could instantly tell,
It was something his old teeth could chew.

So, old Neddy O'Shea,
With a wallow and sway,
Trotted slowly towards the old gate,
Where the lady, so sweet,
Offering cookies to eat,
With a smile, would patiently wait.

Oh, that first Ginger Nut,
Slipped right down into his gut,
And old Neddy let out a hee-haw.
For the cookies were good,
And he hoped that he would,
Be offered at least several more.

But old Neddy O'Shea,
Didn't get his own way,
For the others, who lived in the pen.
All came a rushing,
Pushing and crushing,
To get to the biscuits again.

Now the lady she knew,
Just what to do,
And each donkey was offered just one.
While old Ned he stood still,
On the side of the hill,
Until all of the biscuits were gone.

Old Neddy O'Shea,
Did not sulk away,
He just stood there looking all sad.
For he was quite smart,
And he knew in his heart,
It would not be the last one he had.

The lady strolled towards him,
And old Neddy did grin,
Yes, something had caught his old eye.
For there in her hand,
Was a carrot so grand.
It almost made old Neddy cry.

Now, Neddy O'Shea,
Spent the rest of that day,
Enjoying the carrot for lunch,
And all of the flavour,
Old Ned he did savour.
But where is the rest of the bunch?

So if you want a quick thrill,
Then go up that hill,
To where all the donkeys do dwell,
But don't think them rude,
For begging for food,
It's one thing that the donkeys excel.