Nothing like a touch of poetry to brighten your weekend. Here are some verses sent in by a contributor known to me:



Ian Borg just loves his trees
He chops them down with dreaded ease
He widens roads and builds some more
He rapes this country like a whore

His latest pot hole is the rave
It’s just a blemish nothing grave
Why all this fuss, ungrateful lot
Because a pot hole it is not