Myself is in a shell
Myself is in a shell,
Being hung up
And that.
I shed my shell,
From now
And then.
I am being sat;
Upon a wave
Of Freeness.
My shell is shed,
But what
Do I find to be done.
In the phase,
It’s hot
Outside, it’s muchly warm.
I am being moved myself,
But be looked
Onto Scorn
We Us-self do change
Our scenes and our shells
And in the interim of truth
We’ve such a much to tell
***
You been on the home-made wine again Derec? How you keeping butty?
I like the pome by the way. 🙂
Me? No! Hic! Still trucking Alan, Ta, that pome was scribbled around 1969 when I was a wee teenager!! Hope they’re treating you well down there in the weird West