I realise i haven’t blogged for a while. Too tired for a story so a really rubbish poem will have to suffice. Apologies.

The words of the mighty Lord Byron
Should our hearts prepare
For the nights of loneliness
Of Hopelessness or despair
But never could he communicate
Or our secret heart’s ease
The fear that when I fell in love
It would be a man made of cheese*

*this is not about any person alive or dead. Any similarity is entirely coincidental.