By the bare hardware,
While his son and heir – with considerable flair,
And by means of a brief questionairre –
Made him aware of the need to share
What he had to spare. How very debonair!
Made into a proletaire millionaire without a care,
The son set off to Mayfair Thoroughfair, Elsewhere.
Solitaire, and with laissez-faire,
Spread his fortune everywhere to whosoe’er.
No éclair, no pear, no hare, no camembert.
Au contraire, merely air.
Mohair underwear in disrepair!
Longed to eat jardiniere in full despair. C’est la guerre!
Following prayer, returned to forebear.
Dare their differences to square?
Herr Albert will suddenly repair
When he sees him from the stair
‘Pierre, I do declare! Mon cher, for whom I care!’
Full of savoire-faire, he provides a pair
Of shoes, the glare of gems, coat d’hiver
(His was threadbare) and roast beef, very rare.
‘He was ere the terre, like Voltaire – what a scare!
Yeah, a nightmare! But now somewhere closer to his co-heir,
Which is only fair.’
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