One day,
My canvas tent,
It blew away.
I do not know to what ex-tent.
It briefly flapped like Hamlet's ghost,
Or mizzen sail,
Or some great sea-bird on the gale.
Camping was a sudden non-event.
A nearby stream now broke its bank
And I was stuck
And dank in clinging mud
Like some Jemima puddle duck.
That's why I left those poles apart,
And sodden sleeping bag.
I lit a fag
And then resolved to seek a life of leisure.
A great four-poster was my motto.
A warm bed leasuring my grotto,
And warmer ladies, to be sure.
Come on you Lizzies and you Sadies,
There's room enough for four.
No camping on a treacherous slope.
A horizontal dream is mine. And hope!
Canvas tent blew away and this provoked thought. Disaster brought agony and sadness. We hope still all are fine after hurricane. We offer our prayers for safe living...10
The alleged high winds last night failed to turn up. Thank goodness. Loved your last poem, Kumarmani, with the five finger image.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
to February's showcase, my son. thanks. bri (: