These Flying Beasts Are Hooked on Junk
The white storks glide across the sky, Migrating south in times gone by; But now like Burroughs in his funk, These flying beasts are hooked
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
The white storks glide across the sky, Migrating south in times gone by; But now like Burroughs in his funk, These flying beasts are hooked