Walking With Bison …

I’ve been warned this poem may not go down too well but I quite like it so it’s going up. If you’re from Devon, bare in mind I am as well.

Disclaimer:

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, or bisons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Walking With Bison

Devon is where the buffalo roam

Heavy in Primark they creek and groan

They grunt and lumber and muster a woddle

Little fat offspring behind them all toddle

Because they breed and breed

There’s nothing to do but breed and feed

Or binge and drink, take another sip

Popping capillaries with every drip

They’ve all got red faces,

Bellies held in with braces,

There’s balding heads and barbour clad grannies

Wellies and trollies, not a wiff of a trannie

Boxing day bargains are all their soul needs

Half price nylon can cause a stampede

But at 7 o’clock they’ll all migrate home

Beware in Devon for the buffalo roam

 


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