The Drumlins
Around a table sat three men
The likes of whom, you’ll not see again
Red of hair and blue of face
You have never seen a stranger race
From their mouths so large and round
Flows a most peculiar sound
Nothing like the way we speak
More a noisy high pitched squeak
They wear red coats and have dark eyes
I ask myself
‘Who are these guys?’
‘Where are they from? What do they do?’
‘Are they a threat to me and you?’
Should I ask them who they are?
Or would this be a step too far?
They gesture gently invite me in
Giggling loudly
‘Oh what a din’
They wave their spoons up in the air
Shake their heads and ruffle their hair
But, I think, I will just slip away,
Perhaps visit them another day…
Back