Beneath us, upon this touring caravan,
Those rotund tyres rotate and spin,
Endlessly turning, yearning to turn,
Indeed, beneath our travelling
They roll onwards from dawn ’til dusk.
And constantly our noble escort
Presses his clarion horn, it exclaims
A loud call, again it blasts,
He who steers us through the world
Sounds that horn throughout the day.
You get points for guessing the song. I wondered what it would sound like if written like contemporary poetry.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic