I must write a poem with replete.

Sotto voce,do men have big feet?

Toujours tristless

Aimez vous my new dress?

Pardonez vous,where is my sweet?

Latin was once a new tongue.

Greek is pronunciated wrong

Hebrew is terse

So hang on to your verse.i

I guess  that I’ll never be long.

I am replete with good grief.

i guess sometimes life  is a thief.

I weep for my mother

And for my dear other.

Now I’ll go  to court  sans serrif

I talked to him last Sunday

I phoned him up on Monday

But now I don’t know where he might have gone

I made his bed on Wednesday

I cooked his dinner Thursday

I called him on his mobile,Hello John.

I loved him on the weekends

I loved him at the deep end

But now he never answers his i phone.

I ironed his pyjamas

And kept away pirhanas.

But now he never answers ‘cos he’s gone.

He won’t ever call me

He won’t ever see me

He can’t use his five senses cos he’s dead.

He won’t ever kiss me

Will he maybe miss me?

I saw him lying peaceful on his bed.

He smiled at me the last day

He smiled before he sank away.

But he can’t use his mobile any more.

He winked at me in Hampstead

He winked right from his death bed.

He was only a hundred and ninety four.

Come weep with me tomorrow

Embrace me and my sorrow

Don’t bring your i phone  to my little house.

Come eat some  hot boiled beetroot

Come eat  exotic sweet fruit.

But don’t bring your computer or your mouse.

He laughed with me at bed time

He smiled at each peculiar rhyme

He never got to know his mobile phone.

He liked to brush my hair

When it was long and fair.

Now I think I hear  his mobile groan.