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Aquarius Buried Treasure Callanish S T O N E D Q U A R T Z McMac Pardon? Tattoo Camera Obscura High Creagan The West Highlander Pot Of Gold StarVoyagers Deep Breath Vulpes Vulgaris Richard |
H.M.S. Belfast Firing Range Royal Visit Crisp and Even Elizabeth Great Court S.T. Barnabas Runaway Vengence Weapon No 1 Water Trough Woolwich Ferry CloudBusting Segas Showing My Age 39 Rue Grande Nigel Knows Disco Not Cricket It Is Better Mind How You Go No Flowers Ashes to Ashes R.I.P. Feminist |
The sag back horses, Pulling creaking carts Loaded to overflowing With rusting metal parts, And piles of clothes, Tattered and torn, And straw flecked box With bag of corn, And rattling in small wood crate, Fair exchange, first class rate, Any old lumber for Wedgewood plate! The van, Riding smooth on pneumatic wheel Drawn by velvet engine On shoes of moulded steel, Smells warm of crispy crust, Tight packed in papered tray, Rolls, farmhouse and cottage loaf, Fresh baked this very day, Slows here, as steed, Champing on his bit, Sups his fill As riders quiet sit. The float. A blue and white Express, With yawning crates atop, stumble, Trailing triangle block of wood. Banging, bouncing, chain a jumble, Flared nostrils steam, Divide the clear cool pool, And driver reinless, dismounts To leave his blanket covered stool And oversee this water trough, To wet his lips from metal mug. Whilst at his feet A noisy, panting, lapping pug. ELTHAM GREEN ROAD |