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Anachronistic Chaucer

When April showers, forecast on TV,
delayed our pilgrimage to Canterbury,
an eating house, clept Hooters, we espied
beside a leafy glade where we could bide
our time in revelry and intercourse.
Unto a cycle rack each tied their horse
and entered Hooters, where a comely wench
cried: “Welcome! Here’s a menu! Take a bench!”
They served no grog, nor mead, instead a beer
of yellow hue, called ‘lager’, brought us cheer,
as did the serving maids, whose scant attire
set every male pilgrim’s heart afire.
Then came the food, beef patties sheathed in bread
and Frankish fries. Upon this fare we fed
until the rain abated for the day
and GPS could guide us on our way.

first published in The Spectator

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A Spring Triolet

Come spring, the world’s a kinder place,
farewell to frost and spiny rime,
across the meadow mad hares race.
Come spring, the world’s a kinder place,
for Nature wears a verdant face
and relegates Old Father Time.
Come spring, the world’s a kinder place
hailing Earth’s rebirth sublime.

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Spring in the Sahara

Spring lasts one day across this desert land;
Saharan cold begets Saharan heat
as drizzle, like a sprinkling from the hand
of Nature moistens shoulders, heads and feet.

A whiff of damp pervades the arid air,
the elongated shadows and the chill
of dawn diminish daily, till a tear
that cleaves the gauzy clouds lets rainfall spill.

The nightly bat migration’s at an end.
With palms stripped clean of dates they seek a cave
and huddle in the dark, while sparrows lend
their chorus to a dirge at winter’s grave.

The sun no longer tilts at rise and set,
but climbs up quick and straight till summer’s met.

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Paul A. Freeman is the author of Rumours of Ophir, a crime novel which was taught in Zimbabwean high schools and has been translated into German. In addition to having two novels, a children’s book and an 18,000-word narrative poem (Robin Hood and Friar Tuck: Zombie Killers!) commercially published, Paul is the author of hundreds of published short stories, poems and articles.


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