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Twelve of the sixth and they’ve mulled a mix.

Twenty twenty,

and its the land of plenty.

They’ve thrown good genes,

at this bloody lucky country.

 

But fluency left,

so long ago.

The people now blush,

and decide not to show.

 

They hide in their homes,

and only dial in.

Its the only time,

you’ll see them with grin.

 

Connected at last,

I am not alone.

Except for the assistant,

Where groceries are shown.

 

I’ve ordered parts,

from places abroad.

To wait on them endlessly,

disappointment assured.

 

I’ve talked to people,

about party tricks.

But they seem so lame,

cheap thrills self-inflicts.

 

I’ve walk the earth,

and seen the globe.

ventured to all manor,

ignorances were shown.

 

An invitation,

as a guest.

should bring more presents,

to help them with rest.

 

More non sequitur’s,

more epitaph’s.

more cliché puns,

to hit with back.

 

more platitudes,

more sarcasm.

now the Chinese have it,

were do we run.

 

More portmanteau’s,

more facetious hum drum.

less common-sense,

unless paying your sum.

 

It’s more like,

When I’ll get around.

Maybe do I’ll it,

when the food’s passed down.

 

So it’s toil the soil ey?

Bricks and morter ey?

A lot of people watch for signs,

of  where these draconian views resides.

 

Ethics morals that are all due course,

With plots and plans to make things worse.

Medical advice to feed the rich,

To stop society toppling what withs.

 

A perilous position,

of quiesent currents.

The poorly designed,

and with limited summonses.

 

Yes men yessing yet horses neigh.

But who prepared to say say say.

Kids might just give a damn,

Never the less – they end up a ham.

 

Women can stay silent,

or even make things sweet.

But somethings are better left,

burried under peat.

 

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