I'll tell thee everything I can
There's little to be read
I met this young Newcastle fan
A-chatting on a thread.
I wondered what his future told
And what his past had been.
"Come, tell me who you are!" I yelled,
"And what your past has been!"

He said "I am a Yeovil lad,
Some people call me Jacky.
I'm oft described as rather sad
And nice but rather wacky.
I live with my stepdad and mum
In Bideford, North Devon.
Sometimes this feels rather glum
But other times it's heaven."

But I saw not what he did write
As I composed my post
On which of butter and marmite
One ought to have on toast.
So, having no reply to give
To what the man had signed,
I cried "Come, tell me how you live
And how you use your mind!"

He said "I've had some small success
At my beloved game
My speed and skill when playing chess
Have brought me minor fame.
I've played for years for Somerset
And now captain the team.
We haven't won the title yet
But that will be my dream."

This message passed me by as well
For I'd joined a debate
On whether Isambard Brunel
Could be considered "great".
So, having little in my head
About this young man's life,
"Tell me who you have loved," I said
"And if you have a wife".

He said "I have no lover
And I feel kind of frustrated
I'm still trying to recover
From the last girl that I dated.
I once hated the idea
That we two could be apart
But right now I'd rather see her
Go for someone else's heart."

"I was a Cambridge undergrad"
He carried on, "until
I left the course because I had
Become extremely ill.
But in all those situations
I never gave up hope
And I reached the realization
That somehow I'd always cope."

I read him then, for I had done
Completing my design
On how to drink a pint of rum
And still have room for wine
I took heart from his lines that read
He never gave up hope,
And even more from those that said
That he would always cope.

And if, by chance, I somehow paint
My fingernails green
Or fancy some young lass who ain't
Quite yet become sixteen
Or find that I begin to see
Chess pieces in my head
I smile, for it remindeth me
Of that young man I used to see
The master of the parody
Who traded blows with ZMD
Who was a massive fan of tree
Who drank decaffeinated tea
Who hated camembert and brie
Who aced A-level chemistry
Who railed against the monarchy
Who bordered on insanity
Who can't believe he's twenty-three
Who may perhaps forever be
A-chatting on a thread.