Burying Dad

Every year what fun we had
down at the seaside, burying Dad
with just his head left sticking out
so he could watch us fool about.

Once, Mum and a man she met on the beach
said they’d give us a shilling each
and ice cream at the Grand Hotel
if we’d bury his head as well.

Martin Parker

If you have any comments on this poem, Martin Parker would like to hear from you.

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