This Harry’s car was big and posh
Quite obvious he had some dosh
His house was large with many rooms
And many walls, so one assumes
Upon these walls stood many frames
With famous things by famous names

For many years our Harry went
Around the world. His money spent….
….on masterpieces – works of art
Such paintings that would look the part
Hanging round his lovely place
Nicely filling every space

He thought them investments, assets
He had allsorts like Bertie Bassett
Manets Michaelangelos
Rembrants Van Goghs Picassos
Beautifying his mansion home
Shame that Harry lived alone

Even sadder was the saddest news
One day Harry joined the queues
Of people going up to heaven
‘Cos whilst holidaying in Devon….
….he choked upon a piece of nougat
And immediately he kicked the bucket

No more art galleries for Harry
No more Renoirs for him to carry
Just a long eternity stretching out
Into the distance, there’s no doubt….
….his faith had given him a hope
And saved him from the slippery slope

The pearly gates before him stood
Where all the wise and great and good….
….have entered. Now t’was Harry’s turn
St Peter looked – his eyes did burn
‘Can’t come in here, go do one mate
No way you’re comin’ through this gate’

Harry couldn’t believe his ears
Began fighting back the tears
‘Please check your list, I must be there
This is God’s house it’s mine to share’
St Peter banged his clipboard loud
‘I’ll tell you why you’re not allowed

Do you think I was born yesterday
Call me naïve but hear me say
That shopping trolley that you pull
I notice it’s completely full….
….of paintings which you bought on earth
How many millions are they worth ?

We have strict rules on what folks bring
I’m afraid you can pack – well, nothing
If I let you in, I know for starters
My boss would have my guts for garters
So you ain’t comin’ through this gate
So off you go, and do one mate’

Peter’s words were hammer blows
Changed his happiness to woes
‘Please let me bring in one or two
A Gauguin and Van Dyck will do
Forever they will beautify
My new mansion in the sky

God knows that I am not a crook
He’ll come and have a butcher’s hook
He’ll be so glad I take a pride
In where I live. He will decide….
So please Sir

St Peter’s fuse was getting short

© 2015 John M Sterry