Its hazy path leaves an uncertain trail
as it navigates its way through the night
Ducking and diving between whatever
If there is room for error then it's tight.
It has a mission, to go where no man has been
Almost what James T Kirk would have said
As it spins around our world, its lunar path
knowing instinctively what lies ahead.
Hiding behind clouds, the mysterious veil
Checking before it reappears so it seems
Then it steps into the limelight to claim glory
"Here I am, did you miss me and my moonbeams"
You can almost hear the man in the moon
Or is it just a lump of cheese saying these things!
The show, its stage, its audience appears every night
and we, the onlookers are just waiting in the wings.

Where peace existed, and a calm of the water used to flow
with a relaxed pace,with all the time in the entire world
No rush, just trickling along, no hurry, so slow
easing around stones in the brook, little waters whirled.
Now the great gale has passed, bashing down a stonewall
There is nothing more than hell with an angry splash
sticks are sent flying and the trees topple and fall
Leaves take flight and are gone as quick as a flash.
The banks supporting the water begin to crumble
streams give in and now gallop with a mad flow
road saplings take a death plunge and tumble
sand bags replacing them as soon as they go.
The banks now collapse
and out seeps the mud
barriers give in and snaps
the inevitable happens - a flood.

When I was growing up
we had Flowerpot Men
On the television with Little ****.
Their names were  Bill and Ben
who were very strange men indeed.

They were made out of flower pots
and had a hat on their head to match.
This strange gangly flower lived between
It was an odd sight to watch
If you've seen it you'd know what I mean.

But we were glued to the black and white screen
Watching Bill and Ben jig around their pots
Little **** had a squeaky high voice for a plant
It needed the Woodentops dog with the spots
Who used to have legs that were on a slant.

Casey Jones used to put a smile on my face
With his stripy trousers and a very big wave.
Those were the days with Watch With Mother
The happiness and enjoyment it gave
As I sit now watching Celebrity Big Brother.

"I think I am more important than you"
suggested the hen to the very pink pig.
"Well, think on, I dont think that's true"
snorted the pig, "you're small, I'm big.

"Size does not come into the equation"
declared the hen, standing her ground.
"You are being a bit brave now you mention"
grunted the pig sniffing underground.

"She's got a flaming cheek" thought the pig
"telling me she's more important, good grief".
The pig was more than a little put out.
"Since when was she the little chief".

Her snout got apparently stuck deep in the mud
The more she pulled, the deeper it went.
The air around her became blue, not very good
So deep in fact she couldn't now possibly comment.

The hen saw her opportunity to retaliate
and finally stick the knife in as it were.
wandering over to the pig to interrogate
she thought there is trouble here to stir.

"Think you are smarter than me do you"
It's not me that's got ones nose in the mud."
"I don't sink lower than that, I'm no cuckoo,
I'm better than you, is that understood."

This made the pig fly into an instant rage
I say fly, she was about six inches under by now.
The hen giggled on the way back to the cage
leaving one fit-to-burst, mad, angry sow.

The more the pig struggled, the more she became stuck
Her mind having murderous thoughts about the hen.
Flipping through the pages of "how to stay calm" book
Counting to five, seeing red, and counting to one again.

"When I wriggle free I'll set that bird straight
sniffing inhaling a shed load of stinky wet earth.
That **** bird will await her fate.
The pig pulled for all she was worth.

She aparently catapulted hersef over the hen house
and fell flat on top of a surprised and dazed fox.
Underneath which crawled a thankful to be alive mouse
who was now staggering to hide behind a box.

So one shocked pig, one flattened fox, one lucky mouse
had faces on them to scare the average man.
The hen was dying with laughter by now
she hadn't noticed the butcher's van.

The other three did however and sort of hid a bit
peeping now and then to report what they could see
The butcher was seeing how many chickens he could fit
in a tiny space. The pig thought "I'm glad it's not me."


It is just a food chain.

It is the spooky story of the footballer’s ghost
The younger players are affected the most
They are destined to fall
When they’ve dribbled the ball
They will remember and miss when they reach the post

He is an eating machine
who gives himself grief
Devouring expensive cuisine
Whilst sitting on his leaf.

The time he sit there is brief
Gosh the minutes are umpteen
Boredom gets beyond belief
And his language is obscene.

The little frog – yes that is a relief
You’d think would be nice and clean
In the water he is the God, the chief
No wonder he is a funny shade of green.

THE FUNNY FARM

Take a look, the cow’s milking itself
And the sheep are shearing their wool.
The hens gathering eggs from the shelf
And the pigs entertaining the bull.

The geese are collecting litter
Foxes are mending the fence
Farmers never been fitter
No work for him to commence.

Chickens have pecked the hedge
To make everywhere neat
Ducklings have polished the ledge
Where the farmer keeps his feet.

The plough horse back from the field
Had quite enough for one day
Now has to calculate cabbages to yield
Then clean out the hay.

This is the funny farm
Where smart animals hang out
Full of character and bags of charm
Lots to shout about.

Take a ride to visit a bunch of old bones
on board the old ghost train.
hear the squeals, the moans and the groans
all of which give you plenty to complain.
Sitting hugging your friend for grim death
on the scariest ride at the fair
you feel a cold frosty breath
from the left hand side of the chair
Something is dangling in your face
and it is crawling and now creeping
what possessed you to go in this creepy place
and there seems to be a hand sweeping.
Whatever it is it has left its mark
and you now are ready to squeal
wishing you could see in the total dark
and notice that this is making you feel
            s c a r e d

The goalkeeper has to be pretty tall
in order to capture and save the ball
He is bigger than the post
well in fact he is taller than most
which is no exaggeration at all.

Waste is such an ugly word
yet we all have waste.
In the form of excess baggage,
too much food and desire.
The wanting to keep
the need for more.
The harvest that you reap
is booted out of the door.
But we must save,
Save is such a lovely word.
Save our planet, save our thoughts.
Help those that are in need.
Dont waste, but save and keep
There are hungry mouths to feed
Save the harvest that you reap.

Mints, Sages and Dill greet me
as I trample along the way
Stones hide under my toes
settling down to stay.
But they are pea pebbles
Not sharp, but rounded and small.
I try to shake them free
but they are not going at all.
Lavender and the Lilac grin
They have stones embedded too.
They long for the rains to come
drenching their roots wet through.
Basil and Thyme are not surprised
They have been through this before
The Violets have issues to fry
as the Pansies are first at the door.
When a whiff of bother shows its head
you can rely on the ***** to be there
Nothing gets past this little chap
So to the tricksters please beware.
The herbal path offers stories
one gets carried away along the path
to the little mouse nibbling like mad
to the wren bobbing in his mud bath.
There is not a day that goes by
when I do not dawdle on the stones
the crunchy noise it makes soothes my soul
and puts life in the well worn bones.

The Horse that won the race was named Peg
Probably apt because it had a wooden leg
This brave little horse
belted around every course
To stop it the rider had to coax it and beg/

HOUR OF THE PEARL
Bluebells droop sleepily
Tired in a pine scented wood
Lemons drip casually
In the groves the best they could.
Orange leaves dance in the breeze
Jigging to the buzz of the bee.
Lapping up the early morning sun
Limes threaten to ripen
Withered branches from the olive
Twisting, turning and entwining.
Almonds spring from everywhere
Grapes glisten, turning sweet
Packed into the vine/
Mellowing, yellowing
To become famous wine.
Sun bakes the land and the bread
Has a secret promise with a sugar top.
Chickens are fed from left overs.
The hour of the pearl, the interval
Between day and night
When time stands still examines itself
And turn to dark, the moon clicks
Clouds stick.
and time moves on.

The rigid strength it had felt cold like a fridge
the structure, the sheer length of the old bridge
never ending like a circular disc
cut throat business a huge risk.
The river flowed violently
they pushed on silently.
an echo was heard underground
it was a shrill, an evil sound
The atmosphere was flipping
the water was dripping
A situation they wanted to sever
the nightmare went on forever
The pace now became slow
the river ceased to flow
the memories they could keep
the river fell asleep
dried, crusted and wrinkled
they cried, their skin crinkled.
They were cold and old
their story was told.

An owl hooted sending shivers down her spine
The ground seemed to jump in unison with her
The breeze slowly wafted across her peachy face
As she strolled, very slowly, thoughtfully as it were.

Her mind was a jumbled mess, no sense of calm
Thoughts shooting in all directions, it was bad.
If only she had listened to her mother in the first place
She sighed, counting her blessings, and she was glad.

Glad because many things had happened in her life
Things that would make the average hair curl
But she stepped forward, with best foot with hope
Even though her complicated mind was still in a whirl.

Mothers are always rights, she knew this, it is true
Through dark, into light, from thick onto thin.
Her heart was now pounding, her pulse racing
and she felt the butterflies disturbed from within.

This lonely path on which she walked, lined with leaves
crisp, brittle and colourful, rather like her mind
Her steps, fairy steps barely made each leaf move
Her thoughts varied, and there were leaves of every kind.

A bird whistled down to her advising her where to tread
The mist, damp and lingering led her way across the trail
Her breath hot and steamy warmed the cockles of her heart
and her hair dangled on her face like a rich ****** veil.

She made her way out of the trail, confident now and happy
Looking forward to the highlight of her day.
She stepped forward with a song from  her soul
and the lonely path on which she walked was now far away.

If only there were a  pair of eyes
Watching me like a demented hawk
His beady eye stapled on me when he flies
Over the lonely path upon which I walk

If only my life were mapped out on a board
Little details clearly marked with drawing chalk
But it is empty, there is nothing I can afford
Empty like the lonely path upon which I walk.

If my days were filled with laughter, a bit of noise
However,  it is silent, quiet, nothing,  no more talk
I’m trapped in a place where stuff destroys
Cold and silent like the lonely path upon which I walk.

Depression, confusion all little surprises around the tree
I’d like to burn them, hide them, cut them up with a knife and fork
We don’t need reminding about negatives: do you agree
It is bad enough on this bumpy road upon which I walk.

"He that shouts loudest will be heard"
Said the man at the back of the queue
The rest of the people waiting observed
to see what he would actually do.
"Them that live the longest they know alright!"
The people waiting were now slightly bemused.
They wondered if in his head he was quite right
or if indeed he was just very confused.
The man at the back went very quiet in the queue
An air of mystery started to spread
They wondered if he was real like you do
He that shouts the loudest will be heard he had said.
Well that man at the back did not exist
We all have a voice in which to express how we feel
That being the case how could we resist
Them that live the longest know that that is real.

We await the man in red
The man wearing the curly beard
He brings gifts to cheer and his
time keeping is rather weird.
It is a wonder he is not sick
sliding down chimneys one after the other
It is a good job he has a red uniform
otherwise it would blow his cover.
But why does he not get soot on his beard
it is always gleaming snowy white
surely it must scrape the filth from chimneys
sliding down them on that special night?
His trousers are spotless too
They must be made from extra tough stuff
Surely they must tear on ragged old bricks
They must have old nails that's sharp and rough.
and it is a wonder he is not drunk
knocking back glasses and glasses of sherry
it is a wonder he can see where he's going
but alas it must make his day oh so merry.
There are thousands that wouldn't mind that job
looking after Rudolph and team, making sure they're fed
Stacking the sleigh, eating mince pies, it's a tough time
it is hard being that white bearded man in red.

The bells rang out from the oncoming van
The Ice Cream Van it was, for all to hear.
Packed full of runny sauces enticed the man
To have the biggest ice cream and that was clear.
He delved into his pocket, oh you could feel the anticipation
The children were getting restless behind him and began to toss
abuse at the man looking for loose change,  the realisation
that it was a pointless exercise and it was his loss.
"Come on, get a move on" shouted the kids from behind
The man shuffled sadly away with tears in his eyes.
He plonked miserably on the park bench only to find
A little boy with feet dangling holding a nice surprise.
He had bought a big fat juicy ice cream and held it high
"Do you want this, I saw what happened, you can have mine"
Well the man looked at the boy and started to cry
To take this off the boy would surely be a crime.
But what the heck, he'd only get another, so he grabbed it
His tongue straight away licked like it had not licked before
"Oh good grief" thought the boy "he's enjoying every bit"
"he's behaving like a kid and his tongue will be sore"
But the man went at his prize hammer and tongue
Like he'd never seen an ice cream before and was in a flap
The boy became suspicious and thought it was wrong
But the man had a frown because the ice cream was in his lap!
There is a moral to this story if you can find it!

This is a tribute to a man who puts on a brave face
fetching shopping for himself in the wind and rain.
His name is John, his wife died and he is ninety two
His hard life gives him every reason to complain.

But he does not, he faces each day with a smile
Gritting his teeth, forgetting his tired weak bones
Rubs his knees, the face tells it all, one can see
but he does not whimper and never moans.

He carries on regardless even though he is ninety two
waiting at the eye hospital without a single cup of tea
The appointment is running two hours late in the queue
but he does not mind, he has people he can see.

He is lonely at home his wife dies four years ago
leaving him heart broken, alone but he is no antique
This tribute is real, there are many just like John
John you are strong you are definitely not weak.

If you see a "John" give him your time
go out of your way, step out of your queue
Because one day you will be old yourself
just like John who is alone and ninety two.

He carried a didgeridoo
Then he disappeared
At about half past two.
The moon came into view
Which was very weird.
At lunchtime?
This is very true
The sun was due to shine
At this time
But the man tripped on a pole
And broke his instrument
He had fallen down a hole
Containing very wet cement.
Now as a mark of respect
Please do not laugh
Though I very much suspect
When the remember the time
The man with the didgeridoo
Met with his fate
At exactly half past two.

I reckon he could get an Oscar for his performance
In fact there are many times he would be a nominee
He has not won much throughout his sad life though
That's not up for an award it is told completely for free.

He pulls faces to suit his strange moods whatever they are
whether it be disappointment or a sort of half smile
His face would crack open if he were to show all his teeth
It is extra effort for him to laugh it is not worth the while.

So it is a look of shock and horror with wrinkles and crinkles
I have to look away because I'm giggling far too much to be fair
he would have made millions in acting I should fancy
All he needed was his lines and a woman telling him what to wear!
The man with many faces mmmm!

He had placed the ring onto her finger
But her eyes were so full of tears
He had hoped this moment would linger
An then get filled with happy years.

Her dress was as white as the sand
Her nerves cool in the midday sun
There was a chill creeping into her hand
And was trembling, what had he done?

Her face was changing he noticed the look
It flashed down the length of his spine
The ground without notice suddenly shook
They were standing on a major fault line.

Parting company was the Earth’s order of the day
Neither had the chance to say goodbye.
Their scream will eventually die away
As the gloom rises to the sky.

He had placed the ring onto her finger
But her eyes were so full of tears
He had hoped this moment would linger
An then get filled with happy years.

Her dress was as white as the sand
Her nerves cool in the midday sun
There was a chill creeping into her hand
And was trembling, what had he done?

Her face was changing he noticed the look
It flashed down the length of his spine
The ground without notice suddenly shook
They were standing on a major fault line.

Parting company was the Earth’s order of the day
Neither had the chance to say goodbye.
Their scream will eventually die away
As the gloom rises to the sky.

It was the morning after the night before
Three bullet holes were embedded in the dress.
Strangely there was no blood on the floor
You don’t need to be an expert to guess the rest.

Because the event did not happen, it was all a dream
A dream produced solely inside the her head.
Things were not how they planned to be or seem
The future therefore is not real and definitely not dead.

He slithered into the room with a pipe hanging from his mouth
A stuck on pair of mutton chops and a green check cape
She hid behind a newspaper laughing unable to speak
Hatching a cunning plan from which to escape.

“So my dear, what were you dreaming last night.”
He was puffing awkwardly on his pipe.
I suggest I heard a scream just on when it became light
And you were muttering on about a blood type.

“Murderer” he shouted, and then slapped his hand across his lips.
Regretting his choice of word he quickly said “moody aren’t we
He fiddled with his watch chain swinging it to and fro
She tried to squint at him she could hardly focus let alone see.

He now was confused, slung off the cape which was getting hot
That was because it burst into flames from ash from the pipe
Which promptly landed on something he wished had not
It was a mess and needed more than just quick wipe.

However the newspaper she was holding went up in smoke
She heard the crash of a saucepan and its lid.
Thinking what now has he broke
Not realising he had fled and hid.

Now can you guess the rest?

This is a tale about a mouse
He lived in a hole, not a house.
Would you live in one, as small
Its arched and set in the wall
He crawls in and he crawls out
He's not likes, that's without doubt.
When he goes in followed by his tail
He comes out to a scream an wail.
The woman stands on a stool
As if she thinks I'd hurt her at all!
The mouse is furry and little
her bones are old and brittle.
Which broke when she fell
now it seems I live in hell.
The hole is no longer there
the mouse is homeless, not fair.
Everyone needs somewhere to go
when all you do is scurry to and fro.
It is not fair.

The old fishing boat shiny, worn yet proud
Had many an old fish bone scraped across its deck
Heard stories that would make your hair curl
and had seen weather at its worst but what the heck.
Had seen all the fish available from all the seas
nothing would surprise this old girl anymore.
Had the strength to carry on whatever the gale
Grin and bear it or go as you have gone before.
Its engine, had seen some time in its old life
struggling through seas as high as waves could get
Through ice as thick as an island so as to speak
and the new fishing boats wince if they get wet.
They would not last five seconds in conditions
like my fishermen have served thought the boat
Well if it could think that is what it would think
They look delicate and I dare say they would float.
But now the old fishing boat was being admired
stroked lovingly by tourists with cameras and tales.
Ice cream accidentally smeared on the deck
With its worn polished look and ragged sails.
But it was proud, and so it should be
For the fish it has fed folk, fishermen it had sailed
But now it had a place in tourist's heart, the town
It was admired, photographed and now emailed.
A buyer with plenty of money and hope in his heart
had bargained and won his bid. It was now his dream
to sail the boat with children on board and parents
sightseeing on board complete with a holiday team
Dressed in navy and white striped with straw hat
No fishing lines, nets, poles just an orange float.
With a sign that indicated the price of the trip
A retirement, a nice little trip for the fishing boat.

“Take you caps off men” ordered the station guard
Years have advanced now down the old train track.
The bacon has gone a bit crispy and the eggs are hard
And the toast has gone black on the track.
“Roll down those sleeves, loosen the scarf at the throat
Empty the ash from your new posh mug
And then shake the crumbs from your new coat.
Put the expensive coffee into the new gass jug”.
No more need for rusty shovels, no more need for steam
Years have advanced down the old main line
And things are not now what they seem.

The Owl and the Cheese Sandwich
It rained all night, one sunny morning
the owl stood by my door
He said I gave him a cheese sandwich
And now he’s come back for more.

I thought, cheese, I don’t buy the stuff
The fridge is packed with it you know,
I tried to fob the owl off with jam
But he just flew away and would not go.

I told him owls don’t each cheese
They patrol the night skies
Oh in that case I will cancel cheese
And on the day run I will have some pies.

Funny owl I thought he is up to something
Trying to ram pies down my throat.
It is a good job he is not meeting the pussycat
And going off in a pea green boat!

It was a walk in the park
so they say
It was a breeze
There were no children at play
and there were no leaves on any trees
No swings, no peacocks screaming
No papers littering the lawn
No naughty little boys scheming
No white doves at dawn
There were no ice cream vans
parked at the entrance to the fair
there were no fizzy drink cans
slumped and dumped just everywhere
No ducks hungry for their share of your bread
no swans ready to take whatever you have got
no geese angry but still they were fed
just enough to fill them not a lot.
no babies having tantrums all day
no frilly pink girls tearing out their hair
in fact no children were at play
no one here seems to care;

Across the width of the shiny railings
a wooden stick was dragged.
Beneath the beady eye of the peacock
quite a lot of skin sagged.
Through lack of sleep.
The peacock wished he had a penny
for every time he was awoken.
he longed for a decent nap
without the pattern broken.
All he wanted was sleep.
So he became an angry peacock
and showed his venom in his tail
Out shot each and every eye on the feather
a picture of beauty to unveil.
He wanted peace and quiet.
The children delighted in this act
and thought he was putting on a show.
They dragged their sticks furiously
Little did they care or even know.
So the peacock refused to sleep
slumped in a corner forever and a day.
Then came along a peahen dull as dishwater
the peacock was excite, didn't know what to say.
She is dull but I will compensate for that
He shook his feathers to impress.
The little lady strutted by oblivious
thought he was in fancy dress.
Well.

The Pig That Sizzled

The pig, dressed with a rosy reminder
Shoved deep inside its mouth
A rod unfortunately attached
Travelled very south.
Rotating on a spit
And its frying skin leaves an oily mess
Not long before it’s cooked
And served on a roll I guess.
“Slice of pork sir
And a spoonful of onions”
“Trotters excluded sir,
The pig had bunions”
Nice bit of meat
And it cooked nice and early.
All to do with the tail
It was straight not curly.
I fail to see the difference
That makes to the taste of the meat
And I’m not sure what his reference
Meant about the pig’s feet.
“Deep fried bat Sir,
Care to try some”
Now that is just plain cruel
I think very definitely not
I will stick to what I have here
Which had gone far from hot?

Soak the conker in vinegar and a bit of salt
Make sure that the vinegar contains malt.
Place a hole in the middle of each
Suspend at arms length to reach.
Bash them till they're battered and brusied
Clash them, cling them to keep you amused.
The outxome will be plain for all to see
The one that has survived claims victory.

The Power Of The Sea

Another bit of dry land
Crumbles and falls
Into waiting sand
And castle walls.
Properties on the cliff edge
Panic in a moment of terror
Together with surrounding hedge
Await the fate of the sea’s error.
Rushing, destroying anything in its path
The sea is relentless and with might
Having the ultimate last laugh
Homes become victims among the white.
Crashing to shore, salty spades dig deep
Etching lines, scraping the bank
Bags of sand, now useless to keep
Memories of what the sea has drank.
Copper, lead, bricks, never ending
The sea takes it all, every last drop.
The dry land crumbles sending
Its message to the evil not to stop.
The power of the sea,
Threatening our land in its way
Every home, every flower, every tree
The lot with uproot and break away.

As the name implies
It would look quite sweet
Red wings, red lips and
red felty things on her feet.
A red dress with sash of course
done up in a big red bow.
Red curls flowing from a crown
No hang on, no she's not in panto.
She is not the wicked witch of the west
or some heavily done up dame.
No, she just looks after things of red
Everyone gets confused over her name.
No she cares for the rose and stuff like that
She flies around early morning blossom
No dont mis-judge this little red fairy
Like Mrs Bradshaw is for the scarlet geum.
The Red Fairy is the fairy of the poppy
To her the nicest red thing in the place.
She'll get her golden ticket for this of course
when she meets her maker face to face.

Like a cloud reaching out for that little bit of warmth
Amongst its damp, cool white froth and foam
The tangerine arms of the sun drape themselves
around the cool and evaporate the bubbles home.
There is hope for the day and it will brighten up
the dim , the dark, the poor and the lonely
Tidy away all despair, bin all the dreams of dread
and bring inspirational hopes and thoughts only.

A spectrum of light smashes through a cloud
Piercing the blue with an array of colour
Stabbing the ground with a *** of gold
A bold statement arches the daytime sky.
It is raining, drenhing the soil
Moreover, the sun decides to shine
No more grey skies, thank you very much
A rainbow of colour lights up our lives.
There is light, just follow the rainbow
There is a way to smash problems around
Pierce your dreams and change course
Maybe your dreams will begin to shine.
No more problems thank you very much
A rainbow of colour will light up your life.

I sat there in my chair today
Quite relaxed.
Then slam in my face the door shuts
A bolt of lightening strikes
Once again.
News not expected came
From out of the blue mirky waters
That are drowning my soul.
They suddenly, a light came
Once again.
This light cleared the way
A positive charge fell
The blue water turned crystal clear
Once again.
Hope surrounded me.
I drew breath, it was nice.
Once again.
Now I am feeling relaxed
In the knowledge that help is at hand
And I can continue
Once again.

When life throws its everything at you
Crushing your plans, throwing its weight
Cling on to something, there is still love
The door has not closed, it's never too late.

When you think you've been left on life's shelf
Where you think life has passed on by
Cling on to the never ending dream
There is still an extra arrow from cupid to fly.

There are more fish in the sea than you think
It is still worth the extra effort to throw the bait
So cast extra line, don't throw away the key
the door is still open for love, it is never too late.

There is something about your smile
It can brighten the dullest of days
It brings sunshine to the cloudiest corner
lifts spirits in so many ways.
Your eyes light up and the gloom disappears
I find myself smiling along with you
There is just something special about your smile
It just brings positivity in everything we do.
It makes worries drown, pains disappear
It brings hope to this world we so desperately need.
Your smile brings a joy to the room,
it takes away sadness, hurt and greed.
There is just something special about your smile....

A red, rich ruby rose
Like the soil in which it grows.
For it is blood from my heart
it was love that tore us apart.
Now that all the rose can do is die
I will be left here forever to cry.
and you will be with the rose
and for me that's when time froze.

Nothing is so frustrating as a route
The Sat Nav playing it magic flute
Mile after mile
After a long a long while
The machine is mysteriously on mute!

Nothing is so frustrating as a route
The Sat Nav playing it magic flute
Mile after mile
After a long a long while
The machine is mysteriously on mute!

"Forever bashing together"
He was referring to his knees
I am a noisy thing that is plain
More disruptive than bees.
He is sad, no doubt about that
He considered a one way ticket
that is until his mouth fell wide open
his eyes spied the future Mrs Cricket.
Wow, his knees beat louder
his eyes were on stalks that is for sure
and the most brilliant piece of news
he is not a sad cricket anymore