Nine monks
Ten, with me, in the congregation
It is a well made bench
The new garden
Not quite so well made
They are, in business speak
Sweating the assets
I am losing my belonging
The love affair is over
As was the last love affair
A long long time ago
No amount of treacle tart
Or clotted cream
Can make up for the lost ground
I will leave tomorrow
In search of a new inspiration
The Italian
Or did I decide he was Eastern European
He arrives late; actually, every time
He has attended, he has turned in late
And that it seems is what it’s coming to
