Why do people make jokes about me when l have a good dynasty. I have fed the homeless laying in a shop door and the troops when they have gone of to war. On battlefield or in the mess l have done nothing less.
Out in the west where the cowboys roam free they eat me for breakfast dinner and tea. I have been eaten all the world over as far as New Zealand and back to the White Clifes of Dover.
I fit into any recipe even one made for a Queen. Yes have you guessed it l am a simply a baked bean. I am very tasty on a slice of toast and l have even been dished up over a Sunday Roast some might say l am good for the heart but all jokes aside when did that rumour start.
Do not take any notice of the games people play because l am part of the five a day. I call myself the Pride of the Land because l have been known to strike up a band.

I have a black cat his name is Bob he is a great mouser and really good at his job.
He stalks the stairs as he listens for sound. Where ever it be in the roof or down under ground.
Up in the attic he scratches the door and try to scratch his way through the floor.
One day he found a rat it looked half dead in Granmars old hat the rat looked thin and rather meek it looked like it had not eaten for a week, Bob was upset because he thought he had a good meal to himself he must have thought it was not a good deal to find a rat without having to fight now l canot take one tiny bite.
Poor old Bob catching a rat with no meat to eat its about time l gave him a moggie treat.
A nice few biscuits and a lump of fish is so much nicer than a srawnie rat dish.

I sit here on the window ledge night after night burning away just to give light. I see the same old shadows flicking on the wall but are these haunting shadows that mean nothing at all.
I sit here in the cold as my wax melts away time for my memarous as l am growing old.
When l was young l stood high in a hall with many other candles we just had a ball we were a beautiful sight on a festive night on a crystal chandelier hanging from a height. We were all kept up high until we were half burnt down then we were sold off to help the poor folk in town. All trimmed up to look like new and l was given to a Vicar because he was first in the pew.
To the church the poor paid a penny for four which was hardly enough light to see them through the church door.
I now stand in a chaple under a stained   glass window but l am a candle what do l have to gain.
Now l no longer see the dark shadows on the wall just a beautiful image of St Paul stained in coloured glass with blue birds flying above my head l now know this is my final bed. This is where l want to be so l will go on burning my wick until l get sick
When this finally happens l will prey to St
Paul and ask him to bless me as my wax runs down the wall.