Writing on the walk

I couldn't write upon the walk

I had to wait to board the train

We set out full of bull and talk

And as we walked it rained.

The rain was wet and washed my mind

It also cleaned my boots

And my thoughts soared up to search and find

So I stumbled on tree roots.

They promised showers that fell so hard

But I won't be told to how to think

We were soaked right through and the wind was sharp

But my thoughts are like a rink

- you slip and slide as you skate along

where in life did I go wrong?.

Hanborough to Charlbury

Oct 7^th 2001