Ancient Buddha, set in stone,
Guardian of the door,
Tell me will you let me in,
What else is Heaven for?
Oh, I am weak but well-meaning,
Given to wishful thinking.
Perhaps you’ll promise me the earth
If I give up my drinking.
But I’d have thought that one like you
Would be among the godly.
Not lumbered with a job like this
And behaving very oddly.
For when you came into my view
I saw you in a trance,
Looking as though you’d rather be
On holiday in France.
If you will stretch a minor point
And let a sinner in,
I’m sure you’ll feel a moment’s thought
Will save you from considering
Why it is that I, poor wretch,
with no more to my blame
Than one unproven parking fine,
Should play a waiting game.
I’m pretty sure you could forgive
A few mistaken words,
Those acts of careless rectitude,
Those songs in minor thirds.
Perhaps just now you are best placed
To do a pal a favour.
I am your friend, one of your best,
So please do be my saviour.
Roland's Ragbag 