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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required A little piece I wrote for Flips Funeral There is an interlude to the beginning But the present has now passed As I record this passage Of a hero to the last So I beat a hasty path On my outward journey Two hours I estimated One and a half hour was the plan An hour by calculations Baring cancellations and disruptions So I set off on the journey Using my wits and guile To reach there on time Rushed from my home resplendently dressed With a sacrament at hand And a focus in mind Soon I arrived at the station To test my master plan Soon reality was to strike me When an announcement was made There are delays on the overhead And also on the underground. Plan A now a reject Plan B takes the stand Never try a one way focus With any task at hand After the interruptions Stops and starts Arrived at the next station With a racing heart. Zig, Zags the platform With obstacles in path But there waiting on the platform A train, ready to depart Then on to Brixton The portly man arrives With camera on his shoulder And a bounder to his stride "And do you know the way to Bikley?" The portly man exclaimed "Are you going to the funeral?" I asked "Yes I am, but were you asked?" Me neither, You either As I shook my head, Exchanging bemusing glances Then in our carriage, joined a mourning throng Bonding together our conversation of mission planned For we had come to pay homage to our hero Radical to the core Who taught our African history And did so much more. We soon alighted our carriage Then climbed up the stairs Youngster bounding along As our aged knee got sore Then out of the platform, to Bikleys charm Towers the spire of a church In the clear blue sky "Where is the church in Bikley"? A question we all asked Then came the reply, "Underneath them spires Over yonder skies" Now as I end my journey So too must he ascend Now we are to laud his praises His Accomplishments. As I raised my head, The terrain did I explore A right and a left, a ten minutes walk No less no more. Then out of to the fresh air The silence of the trumpeters note Soon at the gates we arrived To be greeted by a tree, The previous night I dreamt. For under it was laden Passion fruits you see, But when I open one up Crystal clear water did I see.
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