Thursday, 17 April 2008



Slipping and sliding through water and weeds,
Swampy is living the only life that he needs,
Feasting on dead things and fresh bird eggs,
He's not really living life on the edge,
The trees and under growth are his comfy home,
Not bricks and mortar but furniture made out of bones,
Hair on his back and hair on his head,
but no hair on his legs these were the first thing he shed,
No longer is his skin pink, taught and bright,
but dull, saggy and green - the transformation he didn't fight,
Now life is peaceful and not full of stress,
no more big banks, shareholders or a posh expensive address.

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