I wandered lonely as a chimp
That flies on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a shrimp,
A ghost, of golden thrills;
Beside the lake, beneath Ian's knees,
Flying and fluttering in the breeze.
Cumulus clouds building before the rain
And thermals lifting on the way,
They stretched in never-ending plane
Along the margins of Filey bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The clouds over Filey Bay danced; they
out-did the sparkling waves containing wee:
#Ianthechimp is definately not grey,
The hairy chimp did not ***:
Ian gazed—and gazed—but little thought (as usual),
What lift the clouds to me had brought:
For this aft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in grumpy mood,
They flash upon that final fly
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And paraglides with ok, but adequate flying skills.
