Poem for the day

Russian spam-bots ate my cheese! Mrs. Price-Hughes-the-butcher's has an eye for the sausage and a song in her heart. Unfortunately her heart-bone's connected to her mouth-bone in a way only a mammal-dicer could undertand. It sends the Zulus scarpering I can tell you. 'Paid a chanu until you see the whites of their eyes!' the villagers say to no effect. But it makes them feel better and that is what it's all about isn't it? Don't you? Indeed.

Today's poemical cat-dropped twitching blue-tit is a gem from the crown of one Dilwyn ap Gwilym. Dilwyn likes dandelions. Let me see if I can do his voice:-

'Could I' -

..I'll just tighten up my post-it pants...one of my more promising inventions I thought - every time I...well never mind -

Could I in silver-dotage soft sprite dream
Along the air aloft! alive! and broomless
Sweep upon the breeze or from a child's sweet
Wonder lips delight away! and up! To gaze
as hawk or kite the blanket patchwork green
and shine mist-tingled glisten bowed by droplets
Homing from the waves alight! upon my bed afar
Now coffee-ploughed and fresh love rained
So blessed with sleep tomorrow rise again?

No, Dilwyn my bach, I don't expect you could.