Now it is the witching hour,
the time of the pointy-hats.
Up and around the bell-tower
hoots an owl and flit the bats.
Riding across the night-sky
are witches with their cats
who purr and screech and eye
the earth below for mice and rats.
I had a woman my familiar became,
turned me into a witch. Always I to blame !
Is it innocence sacrificed?
Or find a very young naivety?
When we grow into adult life
one morn to wake-up and see
in each other's backs the knife?
Falstaff, dozy Falstaff,
false fellow, but a laugh,
the ladies lusfully aft'.
Pour him a further draught.
Not that he needs heady-drink
to roll around with women, I think.
There is small town Saltburn
at the 'end' of the railway line.
It has a pier without an 'end'
and there I 'ended' my time
as a Saltburn small-towner
and off for York City I set.
It was there that I 'ended'-up,
then Bangkok, Pattaya (not Phuket),
over the vast seas in old Siam.
Yes find these cities I befriended.
What a buzz for a busy Beevers !
These verse-lines are now 'ended'.