We’re indecent

What is life to me without Tea
What s left when you eat buns
With no wife
Who’d brew tea
What is left when she won’t agree?

What is satire when I’m stupid
I pick the pods off the lupins
What is strife
Strive errant Cupid
What is weft when warp is dud

What’s an oak when we’re flaccid
Eating apples full of acid
Who is broken
When the wheel has spoken
I may as well feel kind of placid

What is poetry to a pheasant
Being shot is pleasant
What is emotion
In our maddened Nation
Now we realise we are indecent

I welcome comments and criticism

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