A week has passed since Solomon Grundy breathed his last.

If you haven’t read this one first, please do. G:)

A week has passed

since Solomon Grundy

breathed his last;

his family small

who’d gathered round,

had left for their homes

and could not be found.


Inheritance none

was shared with all,

and so travel expenses

on individuals did fall.


No direct heir

of Solomon Grundy

was found, on this,

or any other Sunday.


Until, one day…

into town walked a stranger,

not Solomon Grundy Junior,

but Solomon Grainger.


Named after his father,

brought up abroad,

he was the living resemblance

of a dead man

that no one adored.


The people gasped,

the people stared,

some people looked puzzled,

being quite unprepared,

for this latest plot twist.


Finding no inheritance,

from a father unknown,

Solomon Grainger

to a doorway was shown.


‘Exit’ was written

on a sign ‘bove the door;

and all of the people

knew what an exit was for.


He left on a Tuesday,

his face set and grim,

nobody waved farewell,

the day it was dim;


he travelled East,

and soon reached the coast,

where he learned how to surf,

and burn bread for toast.


It was on a Wednesday

that Solomon Grainger died,

his memory forgotten,

with no rhyme to provide.

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