Poetry Corner


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Dear Mr/Ms Employer
I cannot work today,
the scrimtickery in my throat
has grinkled its way

right through my head -
my jaw’s come unhinged,
my nose is bumbunctious,
my gloot needs syringed.

My head will not turn
my neck is bracked fast,
my old heart is crooming,
while my joints are pallast.

I couldn’t manage breakfast,
my griping dumblon is cursed,
couldn’t eat a sausage –
I fear the wurst.

Harry Gallagher

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