Aina the timid little Polish girl,
Who in her affable way,
Adds so much realism into
Life, with her kind eyes and
The simplicity of her statements.
Connor, a six foot three giant,
Hewn from the Highland glen,
Where men are men again,
And all he knows of life,
Is the struggle to overcome.
Paris, the first born son of power,
Who lives on an island in sun,
Knows nothing of toil or soil,
Or anything remotely mundane,
Nothing much to drive him insane.
Breda the merciless who vanquishes,
Everyone in her path to fame.
Acting the parts of people whom
She will never ever see again,
Or ever taste the truth they are.
Vonda a matriarchal nurse practitioner,
Wielding her sword of knowledge,
In the never ending battles here,
To help the sick, the needy,
The lost, and bring about a cure.
Tony the builder who cashes in,
On economic misery rolling on.
So he can share with tiny Tim,
The son who's wheelchairs
Cost a bomb, a tidy effing sum.
Poor old Julia sitting staring,
From windows tired of sun,
And rain and hail and blizzards,
Where the doubts have held her,
And torn asunder her lonely innards.
Then Ralph a man of honour,
Held tightly his head up high,
And watched the autumn sky.
The bridge his one last friend,
What a marvellous way to die.