The Peppers


The Peppers lived at number three;

Our house was at number eight.

We used to see them every day,

Crouched down behind their garden gate.


Mr Pepper’s hair was snowy white;

His stare grew ever bolder.

Mrs Pepper oozed the glamour,

Though was twenty-five years older.


They had a mangy dog called Fred

And at least a hundred cats.

They were so pampered that the place

Was overrun by mice and rats.


One day the Police and Council came

And the Peppers had to go.

We saw them trudge off down the road,

As the cold winter sun sank low.

◄ Old Writer

Beethoven ►


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Stephen Gospage

Wed 15th Sep 2021 17:01

Thank you so much, Angel.

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Angel whisperer indigo child x

Tue 14th Sep 2021 23:11

Love this x

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Stephen Gospage

Fri 10th Sep 2021 15:07

Dear Rudyard

Thank you so much for your positive comment.


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Rudyard Kooistra

Thu 9th Sep 2021 19:18

I really liked it. Nothing bad to speak off, something so little turned
to a full blown story. Very nice!

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Stephen Gospage

Sun 5th Sep 2021 19:53

And thanks to Stephen A. and Pete for the likes.

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Stephen Gospage

Sat 4th Sep 2021 17:20

Thank you, Nigel, for this remarkable sequel. One can't really blame the cats, being outnumbered ten to one. Perhaps we might call it 'What King Rat did next'?

And thanks to Julie, Rudyard and Holden for liking this poem.

It is not based on anyone in particular, but on memories of 'odd folks' living in our road when I was young. In all probability, they were not odd at all. They just seemed that way.

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Nigel Astell

Sat 4th Sep 2021 00:14

To rub salt
into peppered wounds
King rat stayed
commanding his army of
a thousand mice slaves.

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