Cracking, Gromit

There’s a moment

Where a dog on a platform

Is working on a bright orange spaceship


He inserts the drill bit

But instead it’s his plastiscdne body

Which is flung, revolving around the frame
Laying tracks and bottling penguins 

Rescuing sheep and moon landings 

Without a word, without a sound 

You and your friend built our childhood 
It was on in the pub recently 


And I thought to myself 

I still feel the same about it now 
With your excited fingers 

And your green jumper 

The thesis that launched

A new age 
Now, though, the man behind the mic 

Has uttered his last

Feet no longer in need 

Of plastiscine slippers 
A textbook eyebrow 

Would probably bring me to tears

But I would like to put on record 

That it will always be with me

May there be plenty of Wensleydale 

In heaven, 


Sloth out  


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