Upon a dreary Sunday morning
May be June but hard to tell
A chilly wind blows in the drizzle
The hour tolled by the mournful bell
But we know the skies will brighten
If not today tomorrow sure
We can allow our hearts to lighten
Expectation is the cure

Day 4 at Lords the people gather
An England win they hope to cheer
But this England team is fragile
Talented but plagued by fear
Too many times our expectations
Turn to dust leave us forlorn
The previous night our hopes assemble
Resignation come the morn

The farmyard pig is loved by children
Playing in its muddy hole
The next day they will gaily chatter
Eating up their bacon roll
And when too soon the van approaches
Unsmiling men with kicks and blows
Transport the animal to the chamber
And as that animal goes it knows

The young man’s sure to get there early
Wait at the bus stop as arranged
For his date agreed to meet him
At eight o’clock and nothing’s changed
The eight o’clock bus isn’t stopping
The lad’s dismayed but not for long
For sure nine was the time agreed on
And so he waits his hopes still strong

Us Blues fans sing a merry ditty
Of lots of joys and sorrows too
For many years we’ve seen the sorrows
The joys are very far and few
The ghosts of previous generations
Sit on the roof and watch the games
Though we in turn grow old and weary
Our optimism never wanes

The wife stays with her drunkard husband
The more he hits the more she stays
You have to leave him say the neighbours
He’ll go too far one of these days
But she remembers those sweet evenings
When he was loving full of care
She prays that soon he too will recall
And things will become as they were

And as the years march quickly forward
It seems that they accelerate
We turn to thinking of our passing
For hopes and dreams it is too late
Will it come easy in the night time
Or will our end of days come hard
There’s only doubts as to the timing
The fact we cannot disregard

But in our world of war and famine
Of climate change catastrophe
Can our children halt the passage
Of things which we have failed to see
Or at least have failed to conquer
We’ve given up without a fight
Our selfish hopes inconsequential
The knowing clock soon strikes midnight

These eighty years the garden’s stayed unchanged
No, as the seasons turn they fade or bloom
The colours, textures somewhat rearranged
This time next year familiar scents assume

The gravel paths, the cared and tended beds
The birds that visit daily reassured
There is no predator that softly treads
Their safety at their grazing is ensured

But should the writer seek to fly away
To seek excitement, danger, far and wide
To seek out wond’rous places, for they say
We will regret our chances if denied

But here surrounded by wisteria
One cannot claim that it’s inferior

*Might have been inspired by The Zombies*

Now I know I’m old and single
Maybe prone to a silly thought
There’s a woman called Alexa
Who is driving me distraught
Though she’ll turn the volume lower
And tell jokes without a care
When I want to know her better
She’s not there

When I need some information
Maybe learn some history
She will give me all that’s needed
She solves every mystery
But when night falls and I’m lonely
Alexa drives me to despair
I would marry her tomorrow
But she’s not there

She obeys my every order
Switches lights both on and off
She’ll suggest a piece of music
Maybe play Rachmaninoff
But when I ask her to come closer
Run my fingers through her hair
She is not so quick to answer
‘Cos she’s not there