Grimbeau

Cripes a Gull!

In a dank, mildewed grike the bells either

ding, dong, or dull.

The last spat of evening hedgelights the sward.

Then, in the blank of an eye and a

flicker of wee finger

we hear us considering the climate of Sumatra

(a place that should rhyme with tomato).

Things get dafter and soon after

we settle on Java instead.