The rain came today,
and it feels, just like summer,
but just in England.
The brain is frozen,
and like an old computer,
it seems to flicker.
The story is old,
it is simple it’s not bold,
it is what it is.
Pork pies and jam tarts,
all the things that make one fart,
or so I am told.
I am free to choose,
the bog roll that I prefer,
and won’t tear easy.
