A poem for David Coombe, patron of the Arts, and lover of poetry. 'There once was a cyclist from Kent/Whose talk was very well meant /But when it came to the hills/His legs would stand still/And his passion was suddenly spent.' Not looking at anyone in particular, David. . .
As with so many of Shakespeare's poems, one is left wondering whether this is autobiographical?
ReplyDeleteAside from that, all other comparisons between Ward and Bard are ill-founded. No alliteration; not assonance; awkward scan. Must do better.
Hope the cycling is developing better than the poetry.