Poetry

Glaze

On the warm bun, a mirror gleam, Sugar spun on morning air. A quiet crack, a gentle gleam— The promise of the baker's care. Not born of fire, nor kiln's deep glow, But

Mania

Mania In fevered nights the mind ignites, A restless blaze that none can tame— Ideas erupt like sparks of light, Each thought a flame that cries its name. Hearts pound in

Bleak

Bleak In the hollow of a winter dawn, the sky hangs heavy, a slate‑grey shroud, while frost etches silent lace on windowpanes, and the world holds its breath beneath a thin, unforgiving light. Fields lie fallow,

Retry

Retry When the screen fades to a muted grey, And the controller slips from sweaty palm, I press the button, start again today— A second chance, a quiet, hopeful calm. Each misstep is

Mercy

Mercy, a quiet tide, washes the harshest stone, softening the edge of pride until the heart beats alone. It lingers in the sigh of a mother, the pause before a harsh word, the gentle

• The Friday Fun British Test
• Dilbert Archives