Bertha Bright’s childhood love
was Keith Lea.
Bertha, only child, was heiress to fortune,
to breath–sharp–in lung–ice fortune.

Keith grew proud
and left the Pennines for ambition,
so he’d return to Bertha
all pride and rich desire.

Despite the decades
Bertha refused all doubt of him,
spurning the assertive hands of vagabonds,
awaiting Keith, her Odysseus.

But he did not return;
she died alone, unmarried.
This sad story so inspired the ladies of Doolally,
they renamed their town for Bertha’s love.

That’s the official line.
Actually, Keith eloped a Swedish royal;
and not just any royal
but the Swedish king himself.

They hid in Malmo suburbs;
Keith, professional man, a duck inspector;
the king, living his transvestite dream,
scatty wife.

The neighbours had grasping eyes:
for the king overacted his bimbo avatar
forgetting to remove his eye–draw crown
when doorstep kissing Keith goodbye.

The Swedish State found their missing king.
Keith was banished to the empire’s beyond,
to Siberia,
where he died of broken promise.

Of course Bertha knew Keith was gay.
She also knew heiresses
had to hand their fortunes over
to husbands.

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