Yorkshiremen in pub Gardens

Yorkshiremen in Pub Gardens

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As they sit there, happily drinking,

their strokes, cancers and so forth are not in their minds.

Indeed, what earthly good would thinking

about the future (which is Death) do? Each summer finds

beer in their hands in big pint glasses.

And so their leisure passes.

Perhaps the older ones allow some inkling

into their thoughts. Being hauled, as a kid, upstairs to bed

screaming for a teddy or a tinkling

musical box, against their will. Each Joe or Fred

wants longer with the life and lasses

And so their time passes.

Second childhood: and ‘Come in, number eighty!’

shouts inexorably the man in charge of the boating pool.

When you’re called you must go, matey,

so don’t complain, keep it all calm and cool,

there’s masses of time yet, masses, masses…

And so their life passes.