To fall apart so cleanly.
To be rescued with some glue.
To clean the wound so neatly,
Even when we suffer flu.
I like to sing a ditty.
I like to hear you laugh.
I like to see your face,
Even sat perched on the bath.
I choose to play your Fifa.
I choose to eat your food.
I choose to hug you tightly,
Even when I’m in a mood.
I never suffer gladly.
So never suffer you.
But suffer my red dress please,
It’s for Mother to wear the blue.
