Bio-engine; boomed profound
and gave to me a sign,
though trekking flat’s; acceptable,
but why not make a climb?
So, with my legs as masters,
they took me up a lane,
then painful vivid memory,
replayed a broke bike chain,
after laughing at the kid,
that I used to be,
I cut through wooded jitties,
to see it; front of me,
“Beacon Hill, Beacon Hill,
be my urban mountain!”
Is what could be heard inside,
my body’s inner shouting,
passing by dear Sweaty Gert’s,
of which, the sweets were good,
also; by; old friend’s; old house,
where we played in mud,
next; there was some humming,
of grid works; that make glow,
coupled by the rumbling,
from motorway below,
still ascending up the road,
the trees began to speak,
“bless his little youngling heart,
we bet he’s feeling weak!”
Pushed on; with beam; I did
for one more steeping mile,
glistening in the distance,
was such familiar stile, thus
another thousand metres trod,
granted me to say,
“hello there; tall Coddington,
how are you today?”
Kind reply; was merry met,
going by their school,
within; my little sister Charles,
acted like a fool,
around a quaint-aged corner,
chapel sang its psalm,
other than boys kick about,
all was hushed and calm,
sternly parched; I became, but
pubs were not the scene,
hence, no supping in the Plough,
or at the Inn on Green,
therefore, I gulped my water,
core function then did say,
bravo, for reaching very top,
yet, hometown’s other way!
Thus, what goes up, must come down,
later I descended,
whilst looking back at such a feat,
thinking all was splendid!