Crap poem written on a break

May disappearing at a rate of knots.
Already, my mind is flitting towards Winter.
Hay fever medication flying off the shelves.
At least I’m not re-stocking them anymore.

A holiday centre is an Island of Fun.
A destination dipped in Destiny.
Drive up, roll up, collect one’s keys.
Forget daily life and its work worries.

Lockdown paunches adorn every belly.
Aeroplanes still sit, unfilled.
Twitchers await the swallow’s return.
And the calming call of the cuckoo.

Is anything better than lunch outside?
With the warmth of the Sun on one’s skin?
Enjoying the birdsong; the daffodils sway.
Lunch is over – it’s time to head in.

RC 11-5-21