7th January 2014

Sonnet 64

No one needs this span on green earth defaced

With thoughts of slow death intruding late age;

Let's swear by The Shard we'll never be razed -

Cancel the hearse, I've got RIP rage.

What goes around comes around's zero gain,

It's hell that's waiting on the care home shore,

And the firme soile win of the watry maine

While it eats up  your savings what's in store...

...Or Evita ,  six weeks lying in state,

But not a spectacle of rank decay

For waves of  devotees to ruminate,

Their peroxide blonde angel flown away.

Painted living statues, die when we choose,

Time's an inconvenience - what's not to lose?