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Yes, I am used to footy tragiques, On the morbid side of pathetique, All I can think to say, Does F***ing Hell describe footy today? It is, indeed, a football term, No goals today, them’s swearing words!

Here, I am, home alone, I do not whinge or moan, I have wool and yarn, For patterns, I do not go far, Crafters do not need company, We occupy time quite merrily, Even if this is Irish craft, Might be in the bin, I laugh, So I scribble more poetry, Home alone with noContinue reading “HOME ALONE!”

He kept turning back to me, Got a rocky reception, you see, There’s no undivorcing he, Gotta live in the 21st Century.