Blake With A Flake Poem by Richmal Byrne

When you met with Ms Brake,
Near the trees by the lake,
She said she was stirred
by something she’d heard
About a snake,
in the lake!

So – you said, with a shake
Of your locks,
The snake - is a fake!
It is carved - by the lake,
From a... tree of some kind,
You explained - for the sake
Of her delicate mind.

When you met with Ms Brake,
And suggested you slake
Your thirsts via tea, at the lakeside cafe,
Tho’ she didn’t have all day
To fritter away,
She agreed to the feed
At the smart cafe by the lake,
The spotless: Make and Bake.

That is all it should take:
A cup-cake by the lake,
A short stroll, while you make
Up your mind –
She’s a flake!
And it’s proved for Pete’s sake
By the reciting of Blake,
Under trees
Where you shake limbs & rake
Hair and pretend to awake
There, from the doze that you fake,
Not that she gave a fig or two hoots!
No!
She was more drawn by the angels with flutes,
In the trees, by the lake,
Where you shared {without care}
A cup-cake with the flake
Who recited Will Blake.
And,
All this showed, (for Pete’s sake!)
That you weren’t at a wake,
Or bowling with Drake,
Or just on-the-make,
Or fishing for hake,
On the lake,
When you met with Ms Brake,
With her fears of snakes,
And of stepping on rakes,
And her penchant for Blake.