The crack of dawn bells that
Startled me from sleep were
Far bigger, more alarming
Than they needed to be;
But set me on a mission:
Could I revisit my younger days?
A fox cub, sniffing fallen apples
Couldn’t understand; the
Stag nowhere to be seen,
Though the October bronzed oak
Stood its corner proudly
In bigger, harsher stubble fields.
A part-blind pony listened patiently
But could offer only a toss of the head
The lane to old education is overgrown
And a discarded Playboy lady, damp
From a night in the ditch
Failed to excite while a
Senseless robin in mist scarfed laburnum
Threw a threadbare tune at a
Bored, farmyard cat.
And the lady in the house,
Who might have helped
Was only concerned that
The hearth was cleaned again.
Glorious rising sun left me wondering:
If the butterfly could speak
To the caterpillar …
What, exactly would it say?
… and, why would the caterpillar listen anyway?