( A praise poem - of sorts) 

 

I'll not forget the day we met

on the Piccadilly line

the memory lies grafted

embedded in my mind

I'd been working late at the office

commuting home alone

when you approached me with your mobile

and by that I don't mean phone

 

And I'd like to say you were beautiful

but in truth it was a shock

I never looked up f...

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There are no young at the Yeung Sing hotel,

only those who grew old, singing for their supper,

or was it breakfast?  For night turns to day, turns to night,

waiting to break fast, to break bread, to break owt

of the Yeung Sing Hotel where the hands of the clock stand still

like the ends of the arms of the chef who mans the grill.

Daylight saving seems a concept made in h...

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