Every time his nostrils flared,
Injustice was proclaimed.
Every hour his moan is declared,
Premonition is acclaimed.
They think progress is achieved by smiles,
Or that the hurt oncoming is a blessing,
What they don’t realise is that all is varnished,
All is the metamorphosis of viles.
Malarkeys, pallavers, spin-moulders and spinsters
Soul tartans behold, freedom-seekers are coming,
Trials of past deeds catch-up with miracles,
Everything you’ve been told of YOU is unbecoming.
Every time his face is lit up,
Interesting thoughts don’t make themsleves known,
Every hour his charm shines up,
Premonition is about to be born.
July 2024
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