I find it strange when I arrange
To go anywhere else but here
All over the map – how 'bout that!
Now I'm here, then I'm there, “every-wier”

Yes, strange, I say, how that on one day
You're looking at the Kommetjie sea
Then, in a few hours, you have the power
To be up the Cairngorms to ski!

I find it so foreign, like the look of a sporen
To imagine going south to north
But when I arrive – Heathrow Terminal 5
It just took a plane, of course

When west up the south coast of Africa
I look on the map back t'ward home
I think “How on earth did I get here?”
What a strange thing it is to roam!

If only I'd time, after this rhyme
To travel further more often
Perhaps I'd acclimatise - become more climate-wise
And this strange, creepy feeling would soften.