Poem -

On the edge

On the edge

He asked if he could paint
the skirting board,
I said not,
they're eight inch Torus
I got,
From Laughton Forrest,
They come in 20 ft lengths,
you have to rent a truck
so no one has to cut
or make them bent,
then the fitting is
mirtre than the saw..
to get the convex
concave angle in the right
direction take a person of
profession..
He can't see the beauty of
the notched wood,
waxed almond hue,
in its finest element..
he doesn't give a Toss..
for the grain a trees life blood,
He can only hear the word no..
it's my skirting board..
When I turn he'll slap it
with gloss..
 ... the. plank

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