The Mrs. is going on.




Was it the drink Dylan?
or someone who knew nothing,
about the Spartans,
users showing you how it is.

You are mesmerised,
only wish for Icarus,
such is the plough.

Young girls in Asda Wal-Mart,
gliding by on star glow electric slippers,
all prisoners of the Queen are soldiers.

The blues the muse,
a fine Quaker Scots porridge oat man.

It is everywhere,
do take care,
as our sons and daughters,
free tortoise.

You pays your money
and takes your choice,
Edith in a healing voice,
hedge sparrows.




A temple is built for love.

~