The Poetry of Brian Langley

 

Migration

 

 

Our nation’s full of retirees;

Each year there’s more and more.

In summer months, there’s many live

Along our southern shore.

But as the daylight shortens,

The great migration starts;

To spend the winter months ahead,

In warmer northern parts.

With caravans, and trailers

All packed up to the hilt.

With boats and outboard motors,

And the makings of a quilt.

With microwaves and VCRs,

Machines that knit and sew.

Computers, TVs, fishing gear,

And flour for making dough.

With barbecues and bicycles

and books to read in bed.

With clothes for all occasions

For the several months ahead.

To lakeside parks with verdant grass;

To shady forest groves.

To sandy beaches, river banks,

They head in endless droves.

And there they spend the winter months.

Not in Paris or in Rome;

But in a space almost as small  - 

As their bathroom, back at home.

 

© Brian Langley 10/9/05

 

 

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