Boiled and sticky as a wicket, kept in the safest known places by their bespoke Guardian Angel, namely one Missus O’ Briain – away from anymore of this sweltering heat
These morally compassed eyes shall pry time and time
Shallow glass existences, each to their lust-filled own with tantalisingly sweet sugar dripped all too invitingly, far too enticingly, atop
Sunday School wanderers dipping momentarily crippled precious little religious fingers deep inside of well-ironed pockets – self-permitted narrow existences for ten desperate digits multiplied four times over, this elbowed open and seriously smeared door back a yonder holds all of their adolescent hopes within
They’ve behaved ’til now for one reason only
A smirk then a gladragged smile, the real child bubbling ’til gloriously getting to soar from beneath
Just too damn hot to touch – soon as these glistening coins do find their way to a most courteous surface
Bad-boy Hegarthy is on something of a rampage, Mama’s bread-basket wages will go to the highest bidder, these sweets have created a life of their own,  don’tcha know?
Refeshers finest, excitably aligned, what’s pristine about to be torn and ripped to delicious pieces
These dental-practised mouths were rebuilt and rewired for one thing right now
To chitter-clatter and plough only minus the requisite conversation – roast dinners notoriously destroyed
She understands simply because she sees it every other week, these boisterous children down upon suddenly soiled knees
When the Willy Wonka-esque pew truly does matters the most, mother’s do bellow and roar in simultaneous disapproval come the turn of noon