Monday, 9 April 2012
When The Wind is in the West
When the wind is in the west and the string is in me vest,
I sit on the sand by the sea.
When the sun beats down, on me head so brown,
everything stops for tea.
When the seagull has landed I smack it left handed,
from me picnic that it's stabbing with it's beak.
When the damn thing squawks and does funny walks,
I chuck it some pie with leek.
When the tide goes out with a whoop and a shout,
the kids fly kites so high.
When the ice-cream melts, over shirts and belts,
and a train goes whistling by.
When the waves hit me feet, it feels such a treat,
to be paddling there once more.
When too long in the sun leaves me nose well-done,
and me forehead red and sore.
When the sunset falls and the chip shop calls,
with a promise of vinegar and salt.
When I sip brown ale, it's blowing a gale,
time to get out me bottle of malt.
When the caravan groans and the west wind moans,
I snuggle with me missus in the awning.
When with bucket and spade and me picnic made,
we'll do all again in the mornin'.