On mould

‘There’s nothing more egregious’,
said Farmer Postlethwaite,
‘than a dose of barley mould
in early spring.’

‘Outrageous slings and arrows
are more welcome to me
than the bastard barley mould
will ever be.’

‘It’s worse than sickly chickens,
or those characters in Dickens
with the stupid names
that no one can pronounce.’

‘The plagues of Egypt are quite mild
compared to barley mould.
You simply cannot shift it,
once barley mould takes hold.’

‘I’d rather cut my head off
than suffer barley mould.
At least without this head of mine
I’d never catch a cold.’

‘Did I mention barley mould,
as something I detest?
Remind me if I didn’t,
cos it’s a peerless pest.’



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