Blue days, above and below,
brown scrub, I cannot go.

Splash down, under the sea,
dry off, under the tree.

Shade me, stretched out on the grass,
save me, from my fat arse.
Mark Boucher (South African wicket 'keeper, part-time legend) tweeted this... "Write a poem!"

So I did.  And DaveBardBird sent me here.

I do as I'm told (sometimes).

— The End —