Ever so high on the dusty wardrobe top
Entirely motionless for ever so long
Sat a furious hat in a silent strop
But to whom did this splendid hat belong?
You couldn’t tell what the hat resembled
So wrapped in tissue with its muslin furled
But it missed the wedding then assembled
And lay unused in its own private world.
Now suddenly life changed for the snoozing hat
Down from a height, unwrapped on the table
She heard a voice cry, “Just look at that!”
As hat and wrappings made the table unstable.
Her silky grey tower showed no sign of ageing
No sign of fade and with lace exquisitely plain
Just a lack of occasion worthy of staging
Is this the hour she’ll be resplendent again?
With late hopes of glory improved by a daughter
Whose cool eye sensed an alternative morrow
At Barnardo’s, where the daughter brought her
Beckoned hen nights aplenty to buy or to borrow.
Amazingly so, our hat enjoyed her new hobby
Taking to hen nights with consummate ease
A drenching by Prosecco and arrest by a Bobby
Couldn’t alarm her, she’d become a real tease.