THE TRAVELLERS
One day I met some travellers
In a horse drawn caravan.
The family were sat in front,
On the back hung their pots and pans.
They parked beside an old farm gate
Where the grass was lush and green,
So I stopped for while to watch them,
It was such a lovely scene.
The horse stood nonchalantly munching the grass
As was his heart's desire,
The lady was busy somewhere inside,
And the children brought wood for a fire.
It was then the old man noticed me,
I saw him gently smile.
Then he chose some wood,
And with his knife, he whittled for a while.
I went and introduced myself
And wished them a very good day.
The lady brewed a drink on the fire,
Whilst the old man kept carving away.
We talked of all their adventures
Until it was time for my tea,
Then the old man gave me the piece of wood
And the child he had carved looked like me!!
The lady gave me some lavender
And wished me luck on my way.
Cheerily we said goodbye!
They left there later that day.
I have treasured my gifts for decades,
And thought how nice it would be,
To return again to the country lane
That lives on in my memory,
But the lane no longer exists now
There is no lush grass and no gate.
The travellers would not be welcome.
On this rambling housing estate.
No one seems to remember
The picturesque scenes that we've lost.
It is all put down to progress
No matter what the cost.
© Vonnie Pearce.
Subject: The Travellers 
Sat 21 Apr 2007 - 13:13
