Old Bard

Old Bard
Warwick Allen
Tuesday, 30 June 2026

I am an old bard
who eats his cold lard
whose voice has been scarred
by cold disregard.

I sit on my throne
and gnaw on a bone
and sigh a small groan
whilst I drink alone.

I lift up my lay,
sing of ancient day
to rowdy array,
engrossed in their play.

I sing of grand things
of princes and kings;
making these worn strings
soar on gilded wings.

My voice growing thin,
fighting 'gainst the din;
they care not a pin.
(Need a sip of gin!)
 
My tale my reward;
I pluck one last chord
before my dear Lord.
(At least He's not bored!)

(recording on Suno)