Till They Sparkle

By Mike Brooke The house stands tall and Georgian proud. All red brick and square set windows That must be cleaned. The London crowd Are coming, a bunch of arty weirdos Five hundred different panes of glass Dusty, smeared with spiders work High up the wall my ladders fast The sweat sticks to my shirt .The pros have come to do the church I ask them what’s the secret To windows free of streaks and dirt They answer “fairy bloody liquid”