Monday, 17 December 2012

A sweet sonnet for a summer's eve.


T’was in the perfumed garden,  there

That a handsome prince walked , nary a care

and saw sweet maiden, blushed and fair

with eyes of blue and flaxen hair.


Instead of words, the prince stood dumb

And stammered, lowly, overcome,

But from his hearts depths, words broke free

“we need six more consultants at St Peter’s A and E”.

Neil Harris
(stoppeth not until thou droppest)

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