It might shake
At the sight strange.
Big egos lugging us,
Showing TV to snare.
And us skipping tea we made.
Shake your head all you want, dear you.
The war’s on in here, you’re invited.
Just tweet me when you’re ready, I’ll tweet back.
Note: This form of poetry is called Etheree, and it moves me like no other form, I’ve realised. If you’d like to know what it is about, visit here.