Sunday morning, looks like rain Cars parked along a country lane The Ramblers are abroad again Eager for the fray
Checking contents of rucksacks That they will sling across their backs In case of rain they carry macs And so begins their day ______ No spring chickens in this band As they stride forth across the land Off they go with sticks in hand Each one a fearless rover
But It’s not like walking in the town With nice flat pathways on the ground And you can bet your very last pound That someone will fall over ______ It’s not that they are all too old To be out in the wet and cold And all in all they’re very bold To set out on the trek
It’s just that some of them have to fight To walk and keep themselves upright And on their feet they’re not so light One usually hits the deck ______ Muddy patches are the worst To elderly hikers they’re a curse And all are wondering who’ll slip first Sprawled out in a puddle
Are you alright? are the first words spoken Then they check for bones that are broken Everyone’s concern has been awoken As round him they all huddle ______ The dangers out there are untold It’s not just about the wet and cold If you fall down when you are old The outcome could be dire
So put yourself not through the test Just leave the outdoors to the rest Who are not so far past their best And stay home by the fire
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Sep 2018
About this poem:
Since I became a poet, just the other day, I can't seem to stop slipping into verse.
This was inspired by my observations while out walking with the Ramblers.
Comments (6)
Rob
But, just for you, I'll try to keep them coming.