DOWNS originally written 2002

I’m going walking up the Downs,

up the Downs,

up the Downs,

which are piles of fossilised shrimp shells.

 

Then I’ll be looking down on towns,

down on towns,

down on towns.

Because it’s a rural idyll.

 

I’m going to puff and I’m going to pant,

To crawl up the side of a Down like an ant,

An ant on a pile of shrimp shells.

 

I’m going to hear the cows go ‘moo’,

The sheep go ‘baa’

And ever see any cars

As bright flashes from afar.

It’s a pathetic illusion.

That there’s any countryside left

Anywhere in southern England.

 

Because when the song of the ascending lark

Lights a spark,

Or sticks a spike,

Up on the Downs, into my heart.

I’m just consuming leisure in a park.

In the city of southern England.

 

So, I go striding up the Downs,

In my hiking gear,

In the clear air

Beside the bright sea,

Looking down on towns,

Like a clown,  

On a pile of shrimp shells.