Dikt om oss

Det har ar en dikt tillagnat till oss 3 nar vi hade det som tuffast i London forra aret da vi bodde pa hostel och traffade en poet som skrev detta..


Ralph (not Rolf) Swift (not Switch)

There's a sale on mobile phones
at Selfridge's today,
Gunterstone Road is mourning,
the Swedes have gone away.

No more Muller corners
nor feet up on the wall.
No talk of schoolday rugby,
being frightened of the ball.

Five pounds an hour at Harrod'
seems a somewhat shady price
when two hours wages spent
result in crying over rice.

Ibrahimovich and Larssonbeg the question why
not all of Sweden's exports
are quite so easy on the eye

As the giggling girls of Gothenburg,
these well-dressed dancing queens
who may be in their twenties
but don't look past their teens.

Via Wembley, Leyton, Hendon,
Clapham, hostels and the rest,
they deserve some decent fortune
as our temporary guests.

Smiles are rare in London town,
once thrown here in abundance.
Now all the sights are Yankee scowls,
new foreign correspondence.

So here's to new found sunshine
in a land too fond of rain.
West Kensington's sad loss
will be Park Royal's gain.