In my mini series of poems based on famous first lines I’ve stolen a hymn from Willie Blake, a local resident in East Dulwich back when Peckham was cool and Prime Ministers has problems with Ireland… like now really only without leopard print shoes….
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green?
Because that would explain why mum can
Not get her beige shag pile clean.
She blamed the dog and had a fit
Which meant she needed her pink pills.
They make her see all kinds of stuff;
An oiled hunk and other thrills.
Give her his spear of burning gold
She’ll put an arrow in his desire,
Poor lamb’ll turn grey and old
And join the boy soprano choir.
Mum can’t stand a muddy rug
Her mop won’t sleep in gnarly hands
Till she’s cleaned Jerusalem
And other grim and grubby lands.
The pictures are from my garden last week