Double Trouble

Yellow lines to be laid, in paralleled-pairs, Whilst striped-bright police cars patrol unawares. All being 'good', the badly-parked will be slapped, With a statutory fine: windscreens ticket-wrapped. The new parking zone will stretch from Uck to Ouse, Privatised wardens, wearing uniform blues, Pacing out side streets (in bounty-hunting mode), Leaping on the line-parked: 'I stopped to unload!' Our future is fine - thirty days to pay up, But don't park in Uckfield, it has just been shut.

Dr. Suess, I Guess.

Poetry is good for us, It makes us happy, Our babies loved hearing it, Wrapped in a nappy. Poetry's our underwear, We don't like to flash: We know if it gets dirty, We think it quite rash. "Poetry should rhyme!", "Follow the written-down rules!" Life doesn't, So why bother? No, that is too cruel.