Fishing a' Dusk

phutter phutter phutter phutter

John follow the ribble o' the swan ascenden
from his vantage by the willer
rose dusk encolours the midden grey lake

the swan circle once
forlorn tha' call
afore
beaten a path to the other pit

the pouring o' tea is deafnen
a groan in his stomach echo
plop plip plop bob the float
as the sun's descend afire

on the moon the London train
beats rushes on rice
for clockbound folk

as bubbles rise pop rise pop
the surface bait is taken