At the ball

 

The devil's in the detail,
Your cousin's in the pub,
He's been boozing since 11am
Aye, there's the rub.

Look in the Gilt mirror
Inspect the back of your mind
Microscopically construct an armed robbery —
 you dirty, rotten swine.
The suspect proceeded to inspect his nails, to laugh quietly to himself, to sip his whiskey, to look around, to frown.

Robbery is the state of play
Forget the author of that book
But what could it be?
The city of the bee?
Let's have a look and see.

He lost his mind at the Necromancer’s ball 
now what do you think he’ll see?
A dark, empty hall. He’s tallish, like me.

 

 

 

 

◄ 27th April: the Bollin valley, Cheshire

SPRING SNOW ►

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