I went to Liverpool. Guess what? It rained.
But the umbrella was useless: the wind
Just whipped and wailed, until its spokes were strained
And its black fabric stretched and badly thinned.
I ceased to struggle on the Mersey banks,
Accepting that my fate was to get wet
For my meeting, and also giving thanks
For my being on time. Umbrella let
Down. Leapt the wind-washed puddles on the ground.
Beneath a thick grey cloud blanket, naughty
Little clouds, darker, faster, frolicked round,
Chased and fought, then cried after each sortie.
And then, to add insult to injury,
The host took two hours to offer coffee!
Tue 9 Jan 2007
No comments:
Post a Comment