Twenty twenty-three,
to the rear,
Roll on snare,
If in arrears,
By Day’s end
Pay men
Stakes arranged
Or cold weighed-in.
My say bends no way,
Send rote “hey’s” at great’s gains
With no weight, as I’ve no game,
Know bits of full-gore
Prolonged world-war
So long, and thanks for
Fishers of men,
The 2 times 2 tour
Monarch phone hacks
Crowning act
A King, laid-back
And what this fool believes
indeed, is way whack.