Noah, he ain’t

Noah, he ain’t.
At least
Not pre flood..
Chicken little
Fallen foul.
But post the non-rush?
Now lush in impression
Bitterly self-righteous
Crossly guessing
Pitifully gushing
Utter rubbish
Britain flooded with
Its home-grown prophet
Fully bloodied
Cheering on the
Fire and brimstone.
Boom! The paranoia
Clung, foretelling
Doom for everyone.
And from the farmyard
Some of them want
Gloom so bad, like
Frightened creatures
Still they come to make
Sure Noah’s work is done.


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