Mattresses made of coir and hair
His long needle made them square,
And before he bought his trusted Pfaff,
He had to keep a larger staff.
Tassels thrill him with delight,
and not the ones that twirl in the night,
An unusual man I’ve got as my mate
Because he talks of gimp when on a date!
Real upholsterers still spit tacks
And use hide glue to mend frame’s cracks
He knows that biscuits make tufted backs,
And his best friend’s are puppies and cats!
Upholstery conservators are a dying breed
The old skills falling out of fashion
But when you’ve sent new sofas to the dump
And you’ve paid a yen for the uncomfortable lump,
The foam’s collapsed, and left a lump,
And your families in a frump.
His trade will again be a needed deed,
And he’ll come racing on his white steed
Or you’ll be stuck with your cheap contraption.
For those of you who dare think twice
Who doubt his worth
Who’ll send them into dearth
It’s your buns who’ll pay the price!
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not for use on blogs without permission.