No 257     November 29


When I write a poem each day,

You donít want me to finish,

I suppose the contents must get worse,

Theyíre bound to diminish.


So to get the sack Iíll have to think,

And send you a mishap,

One day Iíll have to send you one,

Thatís just a load of crap.


Weíre really quite delighted,

You donít want this to end,

The poems you want to continue,

After covidís come to an end.


Iíd hate to spoil your morning,

By not sending you a verse,

If you could not get through the day,

Me youíd start to curse.


Well I suppose I canít have that,

So onward we will go,

I really do feel gratified,

When you say you love them so.


So as long as you still need me,

Keighleyís answer to Pam Ayres,

Weíll stay happy in our bubble,

Just a substitute, but who cares.