Mostly Bollogs, I'm afraid

But occasionally, a glimmer of truth.
If you find one, please let me know.

Wednesday 28 August 2019


Whether we leave with or without
A deal, in the grand scheme of things
Matters little.

We are here for spit. Like a leaf
Upon a branch, upon a bush.
Come wintertime, it falls.
To be regrown in spring.

Our children might in future
Rejoin. And maybe, not.
We do not know what comes.
We only know what has gone before.

Time, like an arrow, moves
Unerringly, relentlessly, forward.
Fruit flies, inevitably
Like a banana.

Cider is nice.

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