Daytrippers In The Cotswolds Poem by Paul Cormier

We go daytripping in the Cotswolds,
And make a stop in high-touted Bibury.
Ronald's empurple'd knuckles prove critical
For passing-lane-precision; pedal to metal,
He, the ultimate source of our momentum,
To find in these wolds a Wordsworthy
World of his meadow grove and stream
Where sunshine is still a glorious birth
And to dine in a former coaching Inn
(Its regal name is now The Swan Hotel)
Another great glory of glorious pitstops,
Daylight latticework in parallel rays roast
A pinewood table for four nigh on noon
At which latte, caps, and tea cakes were
With jam and clotted cream amply served.
As a dream follows each fitful awakening
We'd watch the flow of the canny river Coln,
No hurly-gush stronger currents might foam,
Then trudge up to a column of cottages.
Ahead a lank man stood suspect, a man
In full, he's sporting a beguiling smile,
And for cover a deft pull of the brim.
We thought, Could this be Dr. Lecter
Who might of us a nasty craving satisfy
By dayligone scarlet as a bloodletting?
But what would Dr. Lecter be doing
In the wolds? In the wolds with us? No!
It is sly Ronald! I cried, his straw hat
A summer Fedora likened to Lecter's.

Swan England of Huge Legacy Grand
As Palaces Blenheim and Buckingham.
We saw Her as we had not anticipated
As when we had anticipated England
We had not anticipated this narrow
Serpentine flow, these thatched roofs,
These limestone cottages, nor these two
Traveling Brits, Subjects of the Crown.