Stephen Nephetson. What shall we do with Stephen Nephetson? Wrap him in foil and sell him as venison?
I sat by the riverbank
to dine on my crisps
watching toadstools
and blue bells
...
I lay upon a shingle beach
All the fish were out of reach
But in the corner of my eye
I spied a group of Octopi
...
In a land of purple people
where the Octave owl hoots
Mr Nephetson stands thinking
In his lace up green fur boots
...
Consider the lonely dandelion
In his corner by the shed
An outcast from the flowers
that decorate the bed
...