In his yellow straw hairstyle mask
this Eton Mess
overpays water canons
and recites on the Road to Mandalay
on diplomatic missions
This man is not a leader
a roasting clown apparition
He partied during COVID lockdown
and accused Starmer of a falsehood
He dreams of leveling up
but as a diehard Toff
he has no idea of class

This old country
has given me life
Taught me sad dreams over

Once I was banding the top of trees
until I wrestled a boy from the west
We learned to grow apart
Silver moonchild
the waters are so wide
Steal from the valley
If I were a butterfly
riposte the day
I could be free

I want to see the bright lights tonight
and wait for my supper
Monday morning closed down on me
I was under a karma
French butterflies she sold me
I watched you with my
one good green eye

and now you're tiptoeing
early to the station
don't be late
Everything you did
You did for me
I used to believe
you fit me like a bill
scrub me till I shine in the dark

Weak backlit
a smidgeon of light on the roadside
and windows peering at me
through their homemade blanket
curtains, showing us ill-informed light
peering from the rim of the windows

Struggling daffodils that cannot vouch
weighed down by the rain
As summer falls back, slips
The birds sing their sullen songs
from the tree shades
and yonder there is a scant sun
the foliage faded into brown

We could go to the London Zoo,
where you'd hear the hubris of
the laughing hyenas.
We could then go down the Spectre and Crown,
where all the punters would admire your
white boots and a penguin suit.
Then we could  go to London Eye
and you'd taste one of the roller coasters rides,
using one of your ample' lives,
and your whiskers would react deftly in the air
recalling some ancient fear.

The happy turn of hours
in sunnier chimes.
Half-dried mown grass,
and showering meadows.
Bird song in the fields.
Shaded trees wheeling around.
Moon Crest,
glows the lived in old house.
Where time passes by
still, as the lingering day.