Top of the pops.

 
A new lorry yet,
to dance and sing in the rain,
I saw you in Laurghne,
as if walking away from a wedding.
 
 
But the ladies loved you,
as if the dove had come back from the ark,
what a lark,
something to do and fair due.
 
Dylan used to spend all day,
in the Boathouse with a word,
the children singing in the park;
everyday the dreaming of the May.
 
I rang up Dave,
talking of days with the muse,
a roundelay in new shoes;
I hear you went to a Poly rave.
 
A poem as weed,
in a cell with a call bell
and they cheered the poet in the locked ward,
steeples fall and Queens do weep.
 
No more plastic in the oceans,
plant a tree every ray,
be a hippy in the hot sun day,
pass the time with spells and potions.
 
Philip cycled to the church,
Carol Anne cried,
be the one that saves the world;
for home the homeless lady does search.
 
The Glastonbury towns blues ball,
and a rainbow trout in a clear run stream,
the public drinking fountain;
the colour of fall.

 
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