Hop on my 747 and come
Fly with me, not to Bombay or Peru
But to some new and far out places. Some
Are in your mind and some tasted in stew
Bought in a can in Sainsburys. A few
Are hiding like the crumbs in your keyboard
Maybe no longer tasting good to you
Old songs sing of these places; so do sword
Marks from our ancient skirmishes. Each word
Will take you back and forth through time; the sum
Total of a life’s travels. When it’s through
(The poem or the life) it’s on record
At each cloud station grab that harp and strum
No angel’s choir, no Frank. Just me and you
Sat 20 Sep 2008
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