Clouds, in quite a hurry
To cross the once blue, blue sky
Thoughts of how I have disrupted
Oh so so many lives
Would that I could be seized
With no need to go anywhere at all
Would that I should be rooted
To a place so so calm as this
That we might all travel less
For less is more, is more, is more
No need then for second stops
Or even to worry as to the final result
What once was grand
Was, for sure, for sure let go
Decayed to the loosest straw
Solutions offered by the high and brazen
Rhododendrons were the latest thing
And for tall trees seeking light
A grandstand then was often built
Or a platform, for revellers simply to be
Dilapidation comes to mind
A certain requirement for a lick of paint
The past is past, but, we did all play our part
Except for the mother, who really was a martyr
