How do they manage, all these mad old men
convinced if we donít sharpen up, the shit
must hit the fan? Admonishing this den
of reprobates to shape up and submit
to His instructions? Do you think it was like this when
balked OT prophets made their bleak audit
of sinning cities, but every citizen
had pleasures they were not prepared to quit?
Yet thereís something in the thought of a sudden yes
to the yen to yack Ė not that fallen under their sway
Iíve now fooled myself I can win some final prize
for good behaviour, or accept that more is less
when clicking on Amazon, but just to say
at least at last I know my chosen lies.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Tom
Vaughan would be pleased to hear them.