When the pen takes control.

A pretty young girl called Belle

went to get water from the well

she dipped in her pail

then let out a loud wail

as over the wall she fell

If the heart should ripple

though love appears to dwindle

fire in the embers

Despite good intent

motives were not as they thought

flames of hope burn low

Maisie the milkmaid worked on the farm,

all day long she sat in the barn

I stood at the door as she gave those teats a pull

long and slow till her bucket was full

as she worked she got a sweaty brow

so did I wishing that I was a cow.

When we got to the gate this is what we found

the latch was broken, lying on the ground

that was a problem, imagine the scene

although now closed with nothing to be seen

the gate might open if there was a breeze

any cows or sheep could escape with ease

we looked and we found a hay bale lying near,

thinking quick we knew the answer was clear,

a piece of pink string was tied around the bale

we could tie the gate up, that wouldn’t fail

so even if the bale might lose some hay

we knew we had done our good deed for the day

Reluctance to change

though in the face of reason

species design fault

I’d like to tell you about my friend Betty
She lived on a boat that stayed tied to the jetty
Every day when the tide went down
You could see her bottom all big and round
When I looked at it I would get quite sweaty

Speaking with one voice

A message we all should share

Human lives matter

Out on the prairie something stirred

“What is that,” they asked the leader of the herd

“You all stay here, while I go and see.”

“Don’t worry lads, he just wants a photo of me.”

Culture on a funeral pyre,

incensed by the exhortations

of new masters of the nation,

they cheer as the flames reach higher,

gleefully dancing round the fires,

written word decreed subversive,

once revered, now deemed offensive,

wisdom gathered through the ages,

the thoughts of prophets, seers and sages.

To forge new rules by which to live.