Isn't nature wonderful, she thinks

holding the tip of her Mont Blanc pen

against the ruby of her lips. 

Gregory is in the city as usual;

behind mullioned windows

a weak sun lights up the estuary of the Dee.

 

Her red setter lies fully stretched

on the killim rug

and suddenly it is time

for the pen to write

        describing the turn of the river

almost out of sight. 

 

A thin gold bracelet hangs from her wrist,

a present from a Lord Lieutenant

with interest. 

 

Now the description begins -

"sad and solemn the old river winds....."

 

A plumber will arrive quite soon,

a man specially recommended

motoring up from Troon. 

 

"deflecting the playful autumn sun....."

 

Then as if by gremlin's touch

a scottish line enters her head,

"will ye no' come back again?"

 

On this extra special day

after the plumber has had his way,

to hell with poetry will be her cry

when the fountain pen will lie unattended

 

and all her dreams will be distended.