This poem sniffs moss

& drinks from troughs,

& picks up feathers

& pisses by hedges

.

This poem chats to stoats

& thinks that gravel floats,

& loves well dressings & bell ringing

but never saw the point in fell running

.

This collects stamps

& yet stamps on ants

& steals cheese from pantries

& likes to up the ante

.

Because this poem is a mish mash

probably as a result of witchcraft,

or to be more precise- a pad & pen

but everyone uses them

.

We’ll burn it on the off-chance

…