Poetry

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Nobody wants to know when your old unless you are made out of gold, if you are made out of lead, then your beaten instead, theres copper and brass mister bold's in your class, what of old pewter, will he make a good tutor, theres platinum too how blonde then are you, a tree from the wood table and chairs are so good, iron aswell in your blood it may tell theres some plastic it may look fantastic so many more have I failed to say, but of course there is Mr Clay, sustained by GOD on everyday until GOD wants to take us home eternity is where we all come from, when GOD'S word said light, bang away went night by GOD'S invite all of heavens insight on any day GOD may say Ex-Cathedra.

Joe.

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