It's that time of year again
Glitter, glitter everywhere,
In my eyes, in my hair,
Sparkling brightly, wee jaggy thing
the neck of it's inventor I'd happily wring.
It's everywhere,
from the door to the floor,
a magic wee sparkle
and every card brings more.
I'm fed up of selloptape,
the hoover and the wipes,
And I know you're all scunnered
with my perennial gripes.
I'm sure the stuff breeds,
hidden like the tree in the loft,
'til it sneakily invades
...............
kind of run out of steam
Fed up of the glitter again. I've just finished writing cards and the mess is unbelievable
There's something totally wasteful and horrible about the stuff, yet that sparkle is somehow attractive to us.
Heaven knows what archaeologists in the future will think of it
it's obviously, "Of ritual significance"
Think on this as my e-card to you all
Now come up with better poetry ?
cheers,
Toddy