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U3A Writing: The Carnival

Sylvia Wiseman's poem captures the excitement of a carnival.

The Carnival is coming,
it's just down the street.
Children are running,
they can't miss a treat.
The music gets louder,
the children all say,
"How much longer,
it seems that we've waited all day!"

Soon round the bend
the floats come in view
And, as is the usual,
arrive right on cue.
The Queen and attendants
are looking quite glum,
scouring the crowds
for aglimpse of their mum.

'Twas cold in the car park
awaiting the start
The show must go on,
they mustn't lose heart.
They try hard to smile
as theywave to their friends,
who've waited a while
as the Carnival wends
its way through the crowds.

The floats look so gay
all decked in their lights
And fathers are posing
in black fishnet tights
They're wearing their minis
right up to their thighs
Their bulging great T-shirts
are maximum size.

They smile through their lips
all glossy and red.
They've put on a show,
for it has to be said.
The W.I. is a float to behold
As hula girls there
are both young and old.
They cover their bosoms
with blossoms so fair.
A call from the crowd,
"You should have gone bare!"

The Brownies are restless.
It seems like an age
they've sat on their toadstools
up on the stage.
They're getting quite anxious
when into view,
"We can't wait much longer,
we all need the loo."

The crowd stands in line
as the floats all pass by.
And the clouds start to darken
way up in the sky.
The rain starts to fall,
not too heavy at first.
But suddenly it comes
with a great heavy burst.

The blossoms are sagging,
the bosoms near bare.
The Queen's crown has slipped
from her soaking wet hair.
The T-shirts reveal dark hairy chests.
The Brownies have turned
into real little pests,
whining and crying aloud for their mums.
They reckon they've all
got pains in their tums.
"We want to go home,
we've all had enough."
But Brown Owl's determined
and starts to get tough.

"Sit on your toadstools and stay where you are.
It won't be much longer.
It's not very far."
Back to the car park.
It could have been worse.
We could have come last.
Instead, we came first!

The lipstick is running,
the tights are all holes.
The dads look like scarecrows,
not Barbie dolls.
The babies in pushchairs
are sucking their thumbs.
"It's time to go home,"
say the long suffering mums.


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