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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required There was a time In the not distant past When farmers would sell their wares Of fruits and vegetables they had planted To feed the town folks, and balance a budget In exchange, for clothes, sundries and junket For the oranges, bananas and mangoes They would supply As exchange is no robbery, There was never a cry, As fair deals were in order As their return would require "May reach" was was put to the task A country bus It was bedecked to the rafters Laden at every stop But its travel was not always sure As the dirt roads would often, set it back With burst tyres, broken crankshafts Adding to the score Of this uncertainty , its passengers must endure But jauntily it travelled along In its bright painted, reds, yellows and greens As its tooting horns thunders through the air Alerting , passenger in a distance, It will soon be there We would hustle and bustle To assembly the produce Down cobbled tracks, and a steep decent We would scurry to meet its presence Before it arrived Then off it would chirp , with higglers inside No sooner we would be waiting on its return But there was never a certainty in its sojourn As one of its many irks, would strike As we would often learn It would hoot and toot For the rest of the week As it made its daily trek But it was never a certainty So it was christened "MAY REACH". Well Saturdays was the day When we would know the success of the plan Would we get the happy news of a selloff When the seller would show their hand Or is the reality of an also ran? Making up the numbers but not a hit Or is it success, With purchases and wares? Crammed in bags, stuffed in baskets. Now adventurous youths always seek thrills And it was to join "MAY REACH" in a nearby town At the back of the bus They would climb where the driver couldn't see All filled with excitement All filled with glee The idea was to dismount , as it slowed on a bend. Or when a passenger , dismounted at a journeys end. That was a plot ,tried and tested But that plot was changed And the script was rested When the driver had other plans He saw the imps climbing on the back And decided to cart them away. Well off track Far from their home Far from their stop. I declined the invitation at my age As the older members ,reckoned I was not at that stage I was a liability on this excursion But a witness I was on its approach No one alighted, the driver stepped on the gas In full flight I heard a blop With painful cries and exclamations As on the ground , bruised friends lie Are you ok, I enquired That I shouldn't have asked There were scratches, torn clothes Bruised egos, everywhere As I basked in hindsight I didn't venture I didn't dare No sooner had they cussed their luck The laughter of the spectacle inside me, struck As in disdain , the wounded looked. Calling me all the names written in a book. But there was a lesson learnt Never you underestimate a change of plan Especially when its taken out of your hand And as the driver added a few notes in the distance I could not but anticipate its return Laden with Mama's treats With the coins I would get paid And the many treats For my efforts, But I never climbed on the back of that bus I would rather wait , That I can trust.
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