VILLAGER'S VILLAGE

VILLAGER’S VILLAGE



On a quaint Sunday morning in villager’s village
An old man gazed out cross the green
So pleasant it smelt, being mowed short as felt
And his Bassett hound fronted this scene.


Then morning mass called for the Mothers to flock
And the sparrows gave up for five tolls
And villager’s village was so much the stage
As the pigeons cooed soft in our souls.


This flew me back home to satchels and autumn
And Cumberland Avenue’s leaves
Where the odour of homesick bullied our bellies
And childhood fled to the trees.


The tavern at noon saw villager’s village alright
For stout, ale and sup
Deerstalkers tilted as gunning coats brushed
And salad and pickles were up.


Too quick came one and short after two
Then true it was three o’clock’s heart
Top lips were buzzing, ankles were wobbling
“Gentlemen, please now depart!”


“Love to the family” “Next week then Norman?”
“Next week or so help me God!”
Now to the cottage and in it, its parlour
So to the sweet land of Nod!”


A quaint Sunday evening in villager’s village
As nocturnal beasties get cheeky
Field mice are fine not inhibited now
And they never knew the Blacksmith!


TIM SANSOM AUGUST 1990