There comes a time when your chest descends
And settles on your waist
And hair from head starts to disappear
With an unseemly haste
But patiently wait for a day or two
There’s really nowt to fear
For up they sprout from nose and ears
And knees and chest and rear.
And about this time, and no-one knows
If there’s a planned connection,
Lids on bottles and jars and milk
Start their insurrection.
The upside to the struggles and swearing
Is they provide a good work-out
Offering the flexibility
To deal with all the sprouts.
The matter of course is out of our hands
No choice but to go with the flow
Nature continues to do what’s best
Maintaining the status quo.


(There was a spirited discussion concerning the form of this pome: consensus was not reached. I resigned. Not for the first time. Lo, TG Ed)