Bad Day in Devon.

There was a man from Ilfracombe
Who lay upon the shore.
The day had started well enough,
Then fallen through the floor.

His wife had left him high and dry,
Still sleeping in their bed.
She’d quietly packed a suitcase and
Gone off with milkman Fred.

His dog had done a whoopsie grand
Upon the fireside mat.
Then knocked some paint from off a shelf,
Which landed on the cat.

‘I’ve had all I can take of this,’
He said as there he lay.
‘The gods have got it in for me;
It ain’t my bloody day.

‘I think I’ll walk with stately stride
Into the ocean foam.’
But then he saw the tide was out
And took the bus back home.

We cope, don’t we?