The lone chip
off the old block.
He's lost his flock.
'Flock it' he said,
being sad.
He wanted to be hip
with a fellow chip.
Instead he joined
the Fat Club.
He met a fish
in that
club of fat
then begat
that wish
of happiness.
NOW
before they kip
they enjoy a dip
chip
with fishiness,
one eye open
for their fans
with frying pans.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Bit fishy that one Baz.. Still one good fish supper might be too much to enrich some poor soles.... Sid.