Testy

Testy as a kettle left upon the hob,
Its whistle shrill, a frown that won’t unwind,
Each word a spark, each glance a sudden throb,
A temper sparked where patience runs behind.

In queues it taps its foot, impatient, keen,
While lorries crawl and rain insists to fall,
The world seems bent on testing every scene,
Yet even testy hearts can hear the call

Of tea shared quiet, scones with clotted cream,
A moment’s pause that softens sharp‑edged sighs—
For underneath the bluster, bright as dream,
Lies kindness waiting ’neath the stormy skies.

So let the testy mood dissolve like mist,
And find the calm that steadfast Britain knows.