I have an idea for some verse,
But cannot get it down
With rhythmic phrases, just so terse-
This causes me to frown;
There are two subjects, worlds apart,
'Tis they I wish to join,
But I can't figure how to start
Or the phrases I must coin.
For, I went into the family wood
To find my sittin' log,
Repose I sought and (if I could)
My mind's caverns unfog.
The forest was freshed from an April shower
And lo, between bald, barren beeches,
I stooped to pluck a stem with flower:
The white and yellow Dutchman's Breeches
And thought back through the past
To the first time I had ever seen
Said flower, they were broadcast
And on a plasa screen,
While I was in the Netherlands,
In the 420 Cafe,
Often a smile Irony sends
And so she did today:
Of all the things I could have seen
In dear old Amsterdam...
Dutchman's Breeches on Dutch TV,
While I smoked a dutchman's gram?!?!
I laughed and thought so many things
(None of which I wish to share);
To laughter, may he reign and ring
In times of worry or dearth of care!
Copyright © Ian Thomas Phillips