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          I’d . . .

 

Jump over the moon and I’d play a bassoon

     Though perhaps I would first need to practise.

I’d jump from a plane and land in Bahrain

    And to prove it I’d bring back a cactus.

 

I’d ski on a slope, then visit the Pope

    And I’d hope that he wasn’t too busy.

I’d dig up a worm and then have a perm

     And I hope that my hair wasn’t frizzy.

 

I’d have tea with a Czar and smoke a cigar,

     Then follow this up playing cricket;

But then I’d go home and no more would I roam –

     That is if I’ve not lost my ticket.

 

All this I might do, and the same goes for you,

     But my own plans might sadly be soured,

For at the end of the day, and it’s always the way,

     I’m afraid that I’m truly a coward.     

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Copyright on all my poems

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