I’m worried about one of my hens
There’s something
wrong with Megs
I think she must have
been possessed
As she keeps laying Devilled eggs
I’m worried about one of my hens
There’s something
wrong with Megs
I think she must have
been possessed
As she keeps laying Devilled eggs
He certainly wasn’t much of a policeman
Of that there was very
little doubt
His colleagues called
him the station cat
Because on rainy
nights he never went out
Sights, sounds, smells, taste, and touch
It’s funny the things
that cause the memories to arise
When all of a sudden
memory of my sister flood back
It’s Cilla Black, Port
and Lemon and Devon Skies
Of all the ages of history
Historian will attest
That the bronze age
Was the third best
I had to be brought up by
My non bio family
As my biological
parents
Gave me a rash sadly
Wash on Monday,
Iron on Tuesday,
Bake on Wednesday,
Brew on Thursday,
Churn on Friday,
Mend on Saturday,
Go to meeting on Sunday.
And all on minimum
wage
These polish maids are
brilliant
Are you wearing a French maid’s outfit?
Does it come with all
the kit?
The little apron and
the hat
The black stockings
and all that
With all the coyness
you can muster
Reach up with your
feather duster
On tip toes reach up
high
So I can glimpse a bit
of thigh
Then come back down to
earth
And get to work for
all your worth