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.