In a pleasant recent dream
a plan was merry made,
to take me out; into the air
away from homely shade;
but in order to proceed,
I knew I had to cross,
two main roads; where cars do roam
their speed could be my loss,
yet, I saw a beacon,
with Toucan for a name,
means that way was friendly
for my two-feet-powered plane,
across A46,
then roved A617,
where no motor-speed-demon,
could takeaway walk heaven,
looking down the sides,
much glass; was on the verge,
desolation of bad drive
yet I trod safer kerb,
my head then tilted up,
and saw familiar tower,
the place where I had plated up;
all the sweet and sour,
fat-lorries did go over, a
well known tiny bridge,
concrete groaned beneath them;
next; I saw it on the ridge,
great dear fox of Kelham,
scurried all about,
played with some ripe conkers; to
end the autumn drought,
such a scene did warm me
as the cold gusts carried on,
thus, namesake inn I went in; to
refresh my ginger one,
upon my return journey, new
season brought some briskness,
smelling all things harvest; said:
soon it will be Christmas!