Title: Crawling through Crawley
by Rae from Northamptonshire | in writing, poetry
Crawling through Crawley, it's very hard to look forward to being home
at last.
Is this green and pleasant land really that green?
For only gritty grey and storm clouds can be seen.
Hard to sleep, in this ford of beds, the coach gives a silent moan.
This jam is not sweet and my headrest won't go down, my nan next to me, makes a groaning sound as she starts to dream.
Dreaming of holidays in Holland, I'd prefer to be there,
This slug of a journey is such a nightmare.
Crawling through Crawley, its very hard to look forward to being home
at last
Whilst we live on this old planet,
Do we ever belong to just one place within it?
Written on a National Express coach going to my home in Northampton from Luton airport after a holiday that I particularly didn't want to end. the traffic was very VERY slow.
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