CLARE GNOMES
Six Tailgaters
Delving the ditch a livelihood to earn
I got myself a helluva sunburn.
When on my Sunday walks I used to go
I’d wish I had a little sniff of blow.
To cheer me as I strolled along
I rolled a joint and smoked a bong.
The little birds sit mute within the bush
As I recline here smoking on my tush.
The summer-flower has run to seed
Giving promise of next year’s weed.
A weedling wild, on lonely lea,
Till it has grown need not fear me.
Copyright © 2012 Wesli Court, all rights reserved.


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