It was a Sunday
At least for the first few moments of my morning stroll
Then it became a Rainday.
Along the towpath Everyman and his dog
Not to mention his wives and children
Were heading towards Whitely Arches,
This elegance in iron, The grandeur of its architecture
Its graceful outline spanning the canal.
You don’t agree?
Well, it was constructed by the same company who built the Sydney Harbour Bridge
I negotiate the puddles
Being careful not to kick the bucket
And brush aside the Danger of Death warnings.
To my left I catch a fleeting glimpse of foxes wearing green gloves
As they join battle for wall space
While Daisy and Fern cheerfully wave in the breeze.
But ‘just like the ivy I’ll cling to you.’
My Fairy Lady atop her barge meows
And goes in search of Owl
So they can both ‘go to sea in a beautiful pea green boat.’
She doesn’t have far to look and I stop for a moment’s Indulgence
And draw up a chair to the sewing table, so neatly placed
But the Craft Snail has beaten me to it, so, feeling cross stitched
I repair to a stone bench and sink into its mossy arms.
The sign tells me I’ve still 25 miles to go so I stop to hitch a ride.
If I were brave
I could paddle my own canoe to New Zealand,
But I’m not.
I spy a nearby car
And try to attract the driver’s attention ‘but answer came there none.’
So I’ll ‘sail away for a year and a day to the land where the Bong tree grows.’
It eyes me steadily and I retreat
And head for the Promised Land at the end of the rainbow
But like everything else at the moment it’s in shreds.