The Wait


I often wonder where she could have gone
Up the River Nile or to Northallerton
In Geography, I’m afraid, she had never been too good
And I shan’t be surprised if she landed in a wood
Trapped in thick bushes among poisonous snakes
Lunching with them over strawberry cakes
But then, who knows, she could have lost a hair clip
In search of which she went away, aboard a ship
To some picturesque port in Peru perhaps
Or distant Iceland on a journey without maps
Though I cannot rule out that she learned her Chinese
And climbed up a cloud to chase ganders and geese
I hope against hopes though that from Bologna or Bonn
She’ll return back someday and cease to be gone.

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