Oh Wasn't it naughty of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I'm sick with disgust. She threww me in front of the judges, And my silly old collar-bone's bust.
I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.
Imprisoned in a cage of sound, even the trivial seems profound
History must not be written with bias, and both sides must be given, even if there is only one side.
One mark of good verse is surprise
Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life.