Assorted Poems, Some poems

Malcolm was
a maverick,
and would always
have a trick
or two up his sleeve
should he ever meet
the nous-less and naive,
he’d bob and weave
and stitch them up a treat.

Malcolm was
a chancer, a dancer,
a Bengal lancer;
a ducker, a diver,
a scamp and a skiver
who’d steal the robes
off the back of a lady Godiva
if you gave him
a fiver.

Oh Malcolm.

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