The Tortoise the Snail and Me
The vigorous trio smartly
Step it out, briskly through the fields
With Santiago shell to follow
And me, as foreseen, bringing up the rear
Wild orchids, look! are scattered here
And every shade from blue to purple
Countless nameless wildflowers bloom
Come on, I’ll help you, lagging in the rear
The sound of bells is coming near
Ha! here they are, the bleating flock
Stemming our onward march, we’re caught
In their tide, and no-one’s in the rear
This truly is the last ascent
You say, repeatedly, and laugh
See, Mirepoix is up ahead
And ever thus from childhood, in the rear
June 6th 2009,Hounoux, for Pam, who walks with me
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what a lovely poem
ReplyDeleteThank you Sally. Some of my happiest memories are of walking WITH you, from the chaos of Marrakech to the dusty lanes of amil Nadu! I wonder where our next walk will tak us?
ReplyDeleteLove always
Pam
Tha last comment is obviously written in code and does not in any way reflect my age or the affect my 'chicken' experience has had on me! I read this comment through before pressing 'post comment'.
ReplyDeleteA book of Sally's poems would be a great fund raiser for India.
The main thing is for me, Pam, that as Gerry sang, I'll never walk alone! I did say yesterday as the shorn sheep milled about us, that this had only before ever happened to me in K V K and Kavanur.
ReplyDeleteI am thinking Pam that there's a poem in there- Pam on a fence, fretting over foolish chooks ( and even more foolish neighbours...) Oh and Brian and the rat...
ReplyDeleteSusan talks of a book too Pam, illustrated of course.... Now that'll keep me out of mischief for a while.
ReplyDeletePam on a fence with sun hat too! Did I tell you one of those chickens died!!!!!!!!! Egg bound!! Thank goodness she waited until the Monday to do it. Not sure I could have coped if she'd popped her clogs before they returned. Teresa, who comes from an Irish farming family dumped poor 'Robin' unceremoniously into the dustbin and told the kids she'd gone to live with the vet for a while! Anyway I have my own chicken now. She's named Lottie and made of metal and she comes in every night because she has a fox phobia. Much easier but no eggs. Mind you poor Robin didn't do too well on the egg front either! A 'trouble with you' poem would be good too.
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