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In a Jam

A poem composed in the midst of a travel hold-up


As dark descends on Ridgeway Hill,

On Ridgeway Hill,

Besunken in this cheerless chill,

Bereft of hide or hut,

With blanket strewn across my lap

I rue the cruel and mean mishap

That lands me in my pony trap

With wheels stuck in a rut.


Afore and aft more carts are stuck,

Aye, more are stuck,

With wheels bogged down in mire and muck

While I, midst hold up, rage!

Will hope of Budmouth’s bypass wane

Perchance a hundred years or twain

Till those, unborn, its comforts gain

In yon Olympic age?

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