Goodbye Uncle Vaughan

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As  a child I thought you peculiar, black hair, white skin, gawky behaviour.

Looking  like the devil’s accountant, talking  like a witty dissident.

Living alone?   Could you be gay?   It didn’t matter either way.

Antique bayonets, guns, swords, stamps, supplied your fun,

the Sunday Times shown  your patience in our  home.

Cryptic crossword skilled, five down quickly filled.

A  place we’ll leave on Christmas eve,

our lounge  chair,  you’re not there,

Goodbye Uncle

Vaughan

The inspiration for this poem should be self-evident.   Don’t worry, normal service will be ressumed after a brief bout of the traditional sadness-ranty-insomnia.

Goodbye Uncle Vaughan
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