The Strange Tale of Ingleburry Lane
In 1878, a gent carrying a cane,
Walked at 6 o’clock, down Ingleburry Lane,
A cobbled street, parading horses and carts,
Where gas lights are placed fifty yards apart.
In 2019, a gent with a phone
Walked down Ingleburry Lane, all alone.
Past the coffee shops and trendy boutiques
In this English town, ever so chic.
And so it was where the Lane met Mill Street,
That these two gentlemen did actually meet,
Crossing over, an anomaly in time,
Through a warped, invisible, pixilated line.
One looked at the other through this time warp illusion,
A look from both of total confusion.
In a flash each was in the other’s place,
In a different year, in an alternate space.
The gent from the past, pocket watch in hand
Tried hard to fathom this alien land
As passers by stared and continually asked
‘Why are you dressed from days gone past?’
And the gent from the future looked all out of sync
With his sneakers, jeans and latte drink
And in his hand a redundant phone
Where he could not call an Uber, to take him home.
Panic ensued as they argued their case
That they shouldn’t be here but in another place
From another time, but it’s hard to persuade
A disbelieving crowd you're trying to evade.
Instinctively both retraced their tracks
To the invisible line, in the hope to go back
And both crossed the line with a nod
and a wink
That a return home was now on the brink.
And so, this strange tale, that on Ingleburry Lane
Two time travelling friends, dress the same
For the appropriate era, so as to mingle with ease
Going about their adventures, however they please.
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