Roger Beckett: All The Right Words . . .

But Not Necessarily In The Right Order.

It began as an oddity
No one could understand,
Grew into an epidemic
That swept across the land:
People were mixing up their words -
Not saying what they planned.

The PM felt compelled to say,
It’s Syntax Disorder.
We need to have a lockdown,
Keep watch on the border;
Do our utmost to be good chaps
And shame the foodstuff hoarder.

Day after day disjointedly
He revealed what he thought,
No talking rubbish in public -
That’s how the thing is caught,
And no comings and no goings
Except the Dominic sort.

He cajoled us to stay alert
As if we were quite dense,
Said pubs and eateries must shut
With little recompense,
He told us this, he told us that,
Not a lot of it was sense.

He aimed to be Churchillian.
He failed to reach that mark
And as confusion worsened
The nation’s mood turned dark.
He said, Admit that have to I
In no amble it’s the park.

I words my jumbled getting am
He then went on to say,
In the waffling were they Commons
The other only day,
It picked I sure when I’m that’s up,
As doctors took him away.

Egret with head down and twisted to left