I came across it just the other
day: there I was, regimental
sword in hand, and my father's
captain's cap, his Sam Browne,
boots and puttees, up against
it, back against our privet hedge.
I'd shone those boots especially
for the occasion; in the photo
they are gleaming, just the way
they ought to be, by George!
Smile, they said, and I tried to-
I was nine, and so proud to be
a soldier, but the sword was
heavy, and really I was feeling
just a bit too small for my boots.
I've walked these roads
and streets, observing all
their cadences, their kerbs
and corners and across
the fences, through the
gaping apertures between
the houses, sheds and trees
into those other places,
to the gorse and tussocked
hillsides where delinquent
winds have stalked the
summer-seeded grasses...
Walking is the way to see
just how it is, and besides
I simply love the way
our roads are going places.