There is this lady who sells good food back and forth on all floors of the building while most of the workers are busy looking at their monitor screens, so there’d be times they’d miss her as she goes around selling her stuffs which are neatly placed on a heavy cart. It saves us the time to walk to the canteen to buy food.

A poem.

About prostitutes and things on that line…

Simplicity.

A short “early days” rhyme for my granddaughter, now living in Oz.

The broken heart is healed.

He maybe a useless Git but he’s still my Brother.

Who hasn’t known one of these in their lives?