Not Daffodils

In order to escape the crowds
We hied ourselves high in the hills
And there beneath the glowering clouds
Did spy a sight to give us chills
Huddled neath some sheltering trees
A host of rudderless Japanese
So many that the stand of oak
Was filled with little faces
Who shivered as the raindrops soaked 
All of their tiny places
Too many were there to be counted
A problem that must be surmounted
The purple sky and dancing breeze
Which offered me such joy
Just made them shiver, cough and sneeze
Each woman girl and boy
Abandoned I my poet’s lark
And led them safe to the coach park
And now when I am old and grey
Too old to wander far
I muse upon that rain-wet day
As I sit in the bar
I laugh until my back they slap 
At soggy tourists. Minus map…

©️Jane Jago 2018