Car and caravan
Car before caravan, no, car behind caravan
Twirling around like some demented fan
You woke up safely in a warm bed
Now bed on motorway floor stone dead
Started off your possessions all together
Now all lie open to the local weather
Police cars and fire engines fly around
Adding their usual unmistakeable sound
Long queues of traffic begin to form
People resigned, none sounding horn
Your days of caravanning are sure over
Try camping then on the white cliffs of Dover.
poem by James Hart
Added by Poetry Lover
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