Ken's Poetry

Elergy

The clock ticks, the soldiers march away,
the crows descend and gather on the field,
the hawk drops and rests upon his prey,
shoreward the anglers’ bait is gently reeled,
larks are silent, as are the crackling butts,
golfers abandon balls upon the green,
the doggie walkers muzzle all their mutts:
a gentle hush falls on the midday scene.

All at once the aviators ‘dead stick’
take up their chairs and head for the windbreak’s shield,
out comes their lunch, enough to make you sick,
sandwiches, soup and dinosaurs unpeeled.
This is the Royston Modeller’s dining room ..
don’t come too late, don’t come too soon