Once again I really must apologise for yesterday’s post. It’s just that bad poetry really gets to me. Particularly bad poetry inflicted on the public by the privileged.
It’s my problem, I’ll deal with it.
I was thinking maybe I’ll scrawl the following onto a slate tile and post it to the manager of the markets with a cover letter saying “I understand you’re accepting donations of pieces of rock decorated with poorly rhymed political manifestos and would like to contribute to the collection”…
One day I want to be the king,
So I can own everything,
Except for swans it seems,
Which I’m told belong to Elizabeth the Queen,
And so one day you must give everything,
To the person who is your king,
By which I mean me,
In the meantime, here’s this.