hols hols wonderful hols

Its the hols. I'm feeling desperately like a sausage in a haystack. Perhaps i've too many mind-numbing games, made up too many silly poems and committed myself to too many committments. oh well, here's a poem again.


The sausage sat there, and pondered.
Everything was so dry and dusty. It looked around and tried immensely to shift itself to a more comfortable position.
The hay gave way and he plummeted deeper into it.
Oh bollocks. Now he couldn't see anything. Anything. Except blasted hay.
And it was boring.
Now... what if he had been content.
What if...

WHAT IF

What if it hadn't moved so much,
Would the sausage still see hay?
What if i had cleaned my tank,
Would my goldfish be alive today?

What if i hadn't met my ex-girlfriend,
Would i be a thousands richer?
What if i hadn't eaten that gingerbread man
Would my waist still be a fifty-oner?

Would it still be Newton's law of gravity,
If he had been sitting under a durian tree.
Would i have been stung by a bee,
If i hadn't picked that bush to wee.

What if i had studied harder,
Would i have made it some how?
What if i hadn't met you,
Would I feel your absence now?

What if the grass wasn't greener.
Don't waste your time and perhaps consider.
So many what if's, one sausage in hay.
Don't dwell on regrets, or you'll waste your day.

- jon
cheerios. and merry christmas people