Saturday, 26 April 2014


At my old age I must confess
A mite too old to join the army
To keep me busy in quiet hours
I ‘ve joined the fold in origami

It meets my needs for creases
Sharply pressed like on parade
with discipline in line within
on shapes of things perfectly made

In my troop of transformation
I do a general five star thing
Sculpt and pleat my flagging standards
Compute a tessellating string

With scheme and keen precision
Fine strategic plans revealed
A flawless game of pastime
Winning secrets well concealed

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