WIMBLEDON

WIMBLEDON

 I could write a poem about you

It might even say

‘I love you’

 

There would be hate;

A modicum of debate

About whether you were you

 

Or was it your dead-ringer I saw

Slurping in the arms of granite-jaw

When the forty-love shot was hailed

And you and lover-boy got nailed

 

TV doesn’t lie my dear;

Only one thing now is missing;

Who was that bastard you were kissing?

taken from;  http://www.tinhuttalespublishers.co.uk/67/

 

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