Paul is a stranger to fortune these days,
A victim to fate's unpredictable ways.
His old friend Dame Luck has become a lame duck.
He heard her loud quack when his left foot got stuck.

He stood in a bucket as he made his way
To his brother's wedding. For most of that day
He just had one shoe. His sock had a hole.
His big toe peeped out like a mortified mole.

Black cats keep crossing his path when he goes
Out to the clothes line. Scores of black crows
Perch in the tree near the line on the lawn,
With the bearing of bishops, and he's just a pawn.

They clearly look down on the clothes he hangs out.
His friends hate the hair that's surrounding his mouth.
To be out of favour with fashion, he's fated.
Even God thinks that his clothes are out-dated.

He doesn't know anyone older than God.
His nieces and nephews all think that he's odd.
At least once a week he will lose his car keys.
And super-intelligent mice eat his cheese.

He lost his best shirt and a tie in a bet.
He paid a small fortune to buy a new pet,
A fine talking dog, a black Labrador
Who only says 'woof' and he scratches the floor.

A rare bird has nested on his favourite hat
And he has no choice but to put up with that.
The bird often acts as if she owns the place
When regurgitating earthworms on his face.

He used to be lucky. He used to win bets,
And catch massive salmon with improvised nets.
Women would listen and laugh at his stories.
He'd get jars of honey from just three or four bees.

But he knew his luck was beginning to wane
When path-crossing cats were becoming his bane,
And then came the tree-full of arrogant crows,
And his girlfriend's oboe got stuck up his nose.