If biscuits were turtles,
Would anyone mind?
That no one or nothing,
Could be, of the same kind,

Diamonds look tired,
On the wrist of a tramp,
Sparkle no more,
Says the eyes of the champ,

Trumpet cat fish or needle and pins,
It never matters that my face,
Is full of these things,

David asks why,
He knew simply because,
Nothing new to glean,
Happy? Travelling? Washing? Waiting?
He’s been!

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