the weekly poem.com

Hot Water

As I am trundled off in oak
To meet damnation's fire
And feel my life go up in smoke
It kindles my desire
To think my little stash of ash
Will save the council so much cash

And most of all, I think of those
Who swim the morning lanes
To think of how their rosy glow's
Helped on by my remains
I pray that I may slowly cool
To heat them in the swimming pool

The curtains part, the music hums
The family shuffle feet
But to this blaze my coffin comes
Expecting one last treat
That I may, on the edge of doom
Unfreeze the kiddies in the flume

Read the Guardian story here

Read Bill's 'Bill Posters' blog by clicking here

Hot Water
Redditch council is considering whether to heat a swimming pool and a leisure centre by using the adjacent crematorium.
26 January 2011

POETRY KIT WEBRING

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