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 ramblings and things

Slow Train To Jerusalem Pt 1

Down rutted tracks, sometimes
Ankle deep in ridged  mud,
Leading through the path
To the little evergreen wood
Onto lush Green grass fields
Part of the village flood plain
Underwater every winter from
Bursts from Lambwaths Drain
To form a thigh  deep expanse
Gleaming in the moonlight
A stand to wait for Mallard
On a Winter Saturday night.

Rough  shooting, not  sport,
Shooting for fowl and meat
Everything we shot
Was shot for us to eat.
Changed to summer meadows
For us  village children to play
 Long exploring games that
Would last most of the day.
What we thought were
Miles and miles to roam
Really a few safe acres until
Hunger finally drove us home.

Children of the nineteen fifties
Fit and in  good health
Their little world to wander
Rich in everything but wealth
We so very lucky compared to
Children of generation today,
With their more online life
And computerised ways of play.
The Slow Train To Jerusalem
Was waiting there in the wings
And when the time came
It quickly took charge of things.

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