Poem 58 of 230: THE OLD BULL
Walked along Fog Lane,
Looked at the park,
Stopped in the Old Bull
And had a hark,
While eating lunch,
On how, at dark,
Many years before,
My father’s lark
Was games of darts there -
I’d filled an arc.
(C) David Franks 2003
Walked along Fog Lane,
Looked at the park,
Stopped in the Old Bull
And had a hark,
While eating lunch,
On how, at dark,
Many years before,
My father’s lark
Was games of darts there -
I’d filled an arc.
(C) David Franks 2003
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