Poem of the weekThe Nickerwinkle
When the oak worm soaks the sun
And the little chuckleberries
Suck the icicles that come
In the deep dark depths of summer
When the birds sing ‘La, la la!’
And the bear can’t get the honey
For he can’t unscrew the jar.
Then if you were nosy, spying
On the things you should’nt see
You might spot the bumble dancing
With the happy humble bee
And hear all the fairy music
And the golden birds that cry
As they step the waltz together
In the grounds of Brambletye.
Down the scary lanes that wander
Where the badger-rat still roams
And the purple crested fieldlark
Seeks yet still his long lost combs
Where the Ash-tree tells the oak-tree
As he sheds his dull leaves first
That the slimy Nickerwinkle
Still inhabits Paddockhurst
Though he slides the glades at evening
As the purple sun sinks low
His small brain will be frustrated
For he seeks a Man Who Knows
And the Man Who Knows is not born
And may never, ever be
Waves in time the golden cornfield
Who knows what this life may be
Where the singing gilded songbirds
Swirl in the badger-rats wild dance
Who knows what the truth of life is
Who has a good or ill starred chance
In the forest with the muffets
And the silver singing shrees
Where the skyblue Nickerwinckle
Flutes his song along the breeze
It is there that you may find me
Just as English as can be
With my picnic spread before me
With a cake and flask of tea
Sharing with the crested fieldlark
And the badger-rat that roams
Pain of nickerwinckles searching
For their everlasting homes.
Tony Gardner, Turners Hill