Sunday, 3 April 2011

868 - Now we are a lot more than six

My son’s birthday comes one day after mine
He’s nineteen, I’m forty-six (bloody hell!)
Well WTF, we all head down this line
Arriving to a fading, tolling bell
And if you think you’re different, then you smell!!
See I can still be childish too, you know
The child lives on though my children grow tall
We mature ’cos we have to; life is so
Upsetting; all depends on a dice throw
And two-faced people sneer at being kind
I’ll listen to the whispers from a shell
The setting sun’s a fried egg to swallow
I’ll sit you on a prickly porcupine
Judge everyone on how well they can spell…
Mon 19 Jan 2009

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