Cliches

Silence is golden but my eyes knew you
Silence unfolded while the North wind blew
There’s only a slip twixt cup and tip
Rolling cones shattered the glass.
Two zany cooks can oil my broth.
A herd in the sand is no way in a rush.
On Sundays we  scratch an itch and eat our toast thinner
We went to see a Winter’s sale.I played well.I am an extract
They went to sea with no clip
Ted Hughes was a grate poet.He worked from home.
Larkin was a Siberian and  poet in a Hull.
Seamus Heaney liked half rhymes,someti,
Stevie Smith  lived in Harmer’s Scene with her ants
I love,says Anne.
Pick ass? Oh
Mon haystack, my mon amour.
Gaw Gann  lived here.
Roll clay? In balls?
Surreal? I appeal.
How do you feel?