Poetry

Sweet

Sweet is the first note of sunrise, A honeyed sigh on amber light, When laughter melts like caramel And childhood tastes of strawberry‑red. It lives in tea‑time biscuits, In scones split thick with clotted cream, In

Ahead

Beyond the bend of quiet lanes, Where shadows stretch and daylight wanes, We lift our eyes to what lies ahead, A promise stitched in quiet thread. Each step a measured, steady tread, Upon

Choke

In the narrow throat of midnight's sigh, A breath turns lead, a thin refrain, Where hope once slipped like honeyed rain, Now catches hard, a stubborn tie. The world, a ribbon, twists

Chant

In the hush of twilight, voices rise, A steady chant that threads the night. Each syllable, a soft refrain, Echoes across the old stone lane. Together they intone the ancient rite, A rhythmic

Cynic

In smoke‑stained corners of the city’s sigh, A cynic walks, with eyes that see too clear— He notes the polished promises that lie, The hollow cheers that echo far and near. He

• The Friday Fun British Test
• Dilbert Archives