Chris O' Carroll: Betjeman Applies For The Butt

Your Laureate I ! Your Laureate I !
No moment of moment should ever go by
Without a few words from my bell-summoned pen
To say what will always need saying again.
For weddings, for births, for more sombre events,
My desire to please could not be more immense.
I’m your man when the plan has been shaping up well,
And I’ll find a few words when it’s all gone to hell.

With sayers of nay my rose-tinted views differ.
My upper lip jolly well couldn’t be stiffer.
I’ll slosh on the psalms for great public occasions
Like balm for the nation’s most tender abrasions,
Fly verses like pennants that one might display
On any officially jubilant day.
I can coax out a chuckle or leave no eye dry.
Your Laureate I ! Your Laureate I !