No probs - ty for the BA
the calling of the cameras on the grassed lawn below,
And the seagull sweeping o'er the Berkshire trees so grey!
O the weeping in the Marquee! O the bitter, bitter woe
For the Perkins cakes that blew up yesterday!
The ruddy scone will grow and the Soufflés will fall,
And the varying year bring round the cakes again,
And the nesting MaryBerry will spring from the Chilterns will call,
But she and her gulls sleep sound under the gruesome Thames drain!
In vain the Hollywood boy-bell clangs, no humour and just knives down,
And in vain for the contestants when their crumpets will burn:
There are broken hearts to-day in the little Reading town
For those booted out by the Gull, those who will nevermore return.
They are now lying far below 'neath the sad Isis swell,
Where the oven light gleams and flickers overhead;
Where Mary and seabirds dive and soar and the surges toll a knell,
To chide the 'petitors and eat the carbide bread; oh my they are so dead.
And far below their heads will steer the careless TV crews,
And far in their the guests come and go;
And Mary and Seagulls swoop in between the Perkins snooze,
The Croquembouche throbs with joy and woe.
And the GBBO keeps on its groan where the silent look down,
And the Scary Mary Berry gull with its ceaseless call across the fray,
And hearts must bear and break in the canvass town
For the Bakers who perish day by day.