pus - a poem for Thatcher's funeral

[johnny nobody]

when I think of her
I see nothing but putrid filth
her heart was blacker than the darkest night
and her soul-substitute was filled with pus
filthy foulness oozing from wounds
suppurating with germs and graveyard worms
so many people will hope
in the deserted cemetary of their hearts
that God will make her burn in Hell
but that's a bit unkind I suppose
it's enough that she's gone

[Daphne]

You don't mince words here do you?

[bigpaws0051]

A formidable woman she was. Could feel the hatred in this poem

[justfred]

We had a bit of a party after her death was announced. Old Mrs Renfield had a major heart attack she was laughing so much.