So I’m sat on the edge of this creaky old bed,

Sat letting the blood rush back to my head.

This gives me some time to recover reflect.

To begin on the internal investigative disect.

And for that I’ll need to go boating,

Off on some river,meandering,floating.

Watching the time as it rushes on by,

Sat scratching my head and stifling a sigh.

Watching the flashing dashing silvery fish,

Licking my lips as I picture them in a dish.

Then I’m dreaming of parties,

Dressed in ‘Dernier Cri’.

With Ballroom dancers wanting to sit on my knee,

In my dreams it can be whatever Isee.

Now I’m stuck in the reeds,

Among trees raining down seeds

Empowering flowers assault all my senses.

My nostrils appear to have no defences.

Once more I am floating into the whitewater,

It’s time that Ioughta,

Backpaddle and scrabble get out of the saddle,

Go back to my bed,

But I’ll go for a shower instead.

A natural solution,

To the mornings ablution.


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