It’s here, the date that was marked,
now our reunion can make it’s spark,
fourteen long months’ worth of drought,
will end, via the noise; of our great shout,
our band of five, will meet him, the one,
not caring of the clouds, for we are the Sun,
we see him, the new crown prince of Wales,
then we make a start; with our happy trails.
We satisfy our belly rumbles, in the land of “double Ds”,
with beautiful concentration; on what can please,
the drinks are downed, with a telepathic toast,
then we commence our crawling, to find another host,
by the canal, we wave at boats, and drink with ducks,
in a plain and pure sensation; of not giving a fuck,
again, our cups are emptied, now back to the train,
to return to more scenes, of our own memory lane.
Thanks to granted permission; by our former bosses,
we continue with our merriment, and with our sauces,
where our friend from the valleys, makes his week-long home,
with a grin; he always wears, wherever he does roam,
we sup with more friends, that we have not seen for a while,
life can get in the way but in this moment; all I can do is smile,
so, sleep well Mr Smith, and my fellow cheerful feasters,
as tomorrow, we may resume, at playing our little Caesars!