Before the rain fell, Count the clinical long silence, You, in a flap over nothing at all, Cool your head with a few cucumber slices, Lay down and perspire like a tennis player,
Arrival at the hidden camp, Up to a thousand tearful prisoners stagger past, Stoned faced SS guards bark orders, Children, as young as four,scrambling with small suitcases,
Just take one word and spin it, Eat half of it by gently smoothing, Apply the image before the end, Now add as much panache, Even the odd instrument could play you a tune,
Most poets die later, Is it cosy up there? Culture, music and rhyme all gone to charm heaven, How did you bewitch them? An artistic word musician, you knew how to carve,
Yep, One man who really knows how to make you swoon, Underneath you are melting like soft brown fudge,now, Roar at the moon when he gives you the nudge.