The Dawn of Prosper and the Last Tripe of Teal.

Axe the pansy Wilmslow partly 
deftly garden silt,
Avoid the close distrusted
obfuscated at the hilt!

Retort the broadly Wrexham torte 
erectly farmyard bat,
Colloid the mast constructed
calibrated at the cat!

Keyed the Carly Wycombe mostly 
ghostly kitchen sink, 
Enjoyed the vote lambasted
logarithmic at the link!

Wash the warren Warwick warmly 
ghastly armchair boat,
Annoyed the duck completed
mesmerism at the rote!

Tan the rumble Worcester coldly 
coley castle park,
Destroyed the mouth mistreated
barbarism at the arc!

Cup the cupboard Whitby kind
erratic kennel east,
Convoyed the bean depleted
realistic at the feast!

Ran the flannel Warrington plea
vertically pine,
Ovoid the crease disgusted
imagery at the line!

Wore the Wardrobe Wednesbury shifty 
gritty forest gripe,
Deployed the milk encrusted
cauterising at the hype!

Cut the corduroy Worksop lovely
pushy meadow slash,
Employed the hope suggested
cataracting at the ash!

Hung the herring Woking homely
ringing cafe pace,
Devoid the last infected
mystifying at the lace!

Mix the mosaic Wigan joking
plainly hairy ham, 
Steroid the terrace boring
comminuted at the clam!

Wisp the whipping Whitnash playing 
larded fluffy white,
Baroid the church inflected
elevating at the plight!

Reach the roofing Weybridge gutter 
stutter flutter green,
Oldroyd the plaza potted
underlining at the scene!

Jump the Jelly Wareham trapping 
dropping hopping cold,
Cloyed the window slatted
psychopathic at the hold!

Yule the Yellow Weston handrail
terracotta dream,
Android the lightbulb lonely
melodious at the scheme!

Tweak the garum Whitehill portly 
porking pasty pie,
Unbouyed the landing peachy
terrorising at the eye!

The Seven Swaithes of Swaithington

The first Swaithe he was rather thin,
A facist vegetarian,
He took the people from their towers,
And murdered them all in the showers,
He has no cigars nor hats nor yids,
He has forgotten all our kids.

The second Swaithe he was full of spirit,
He got things done, in all his merit,
He wouldn't let people critise,
He'd turn them into food for flies,
He has no peace nor time nor trams,
He has forgotten all our lambs.

The third Swaithe he was all the rage,
He put the people in a cage,
He drove a car through downtown Dallas,
And ended up in Zeus's palace,
He has no hearts nor spades nor clubs,
He has forgotten all our cubs.

The fourth Swaithe he was fat of face,
He lost a very different race,
He couldn't keep a hold of tapes,
He made himself a Jackanapes,
He has no blood nor pride nor mates,
He's forgotten all our neonates.

The fifth Swaithe she was full of malice,
Her actions were a poisoned chalice,
She closed the places we could work,
She left the men out of the murk,
She has not brave nor kind nor couth,
She has forgotten all our youth.

The sixth Swaithe he was rather brash,
He didn't have a lot of class,
He took the money to the edge,
He delivered less than he could pledge,
He has not hair nor teeth nor skin,
He has forgotten all our kin.

The seventh Swaithe he was fair of face,
And fairly intolerant of race,
He brokered deals with which to lead,
With players of a different seed,
He has no brain nor eyes nor tongue,
He has forgotten all our young.

The Swaithes colluded to butcher our futures,
All alike and all of us sutured,
They took control without response
A likely lonely renaissance,
We have no face nor heel nor repose,
We'll feed and become adipose.