odour, a Frenchman cries,
flavored burgers, or rings with fries,
Here they’re safe on the allotment shed
out in a brownish red.
Norfolk patch, a scrumper’s heaven,
retreat from eleven to seven,
to do with sweat of the brow,
good for them, the here and now.
look too hard you’ll see a mess,
look ahead you’ll be impressed.
spade’s a spade, your back’s in pain,
Hardly alive, but there’s thrift to gain.
peel the layers, stuff the bird,
Ears to the fence, an idle word,
soil is good, the chickens lay.
British toil, the Spanish stay.
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