The inevitable invariably happens when the lights go down at dusk.
I’m tying up my tin soldiers and putting them in bunkers as the fireworks are due to start now.
When the ‘Magic Robot’ hasn’t got the answer because the question’s not there,
who do we go to and who would we know who would know?
My mind goes Meccano and starts building an airport,
I am caught between two lines of thought,
© 2020, John Smallshaw.