Waiting for the bus
A September morning, at the road side
The bus will be here any minute, I hope
I came walking fast, quickening stride
Listening to birdsong on a gentle slope
The air is cool, an Easterly breeze blows
Round the corner, the bus comes along
Passing hedgerows, scattering crows
They fly away, singing their raucous song
Passing the coastline, looking out to sea
A distant mist hides the far off islands
Beautiful archipelago I cannot see
The cliffs of Sark, the yellow sands
The days drawing in, and a later dawn
And early mornings bring forth a yawn
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