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Saturday Morning
I’ll hop in a rocket
then shoot to the moon;
I’ll set off for Saturn,
arriving by noon;
I’ll put on my helmet
and count down from ten –
the places I’ll go
when I pick up a pen.
I’ll saunter through streets
in Victorian times,
cavorting with crooks
and committing some crimes;
I’ll linger with thieves
as they lurk in their den –
the stuff that I’ll see
when I pick up a pen.
I’ll roam with the Romans,
geek out with the Greeks;
I’ll train with some troopers,
discern their techniques,
then battle my demons
again and again –
the things that I’ll do
when I pick up a pen.
And I’ll conjure a saviour,
loving and warm,
to help me escape
from my family storm;
I’ll try to come home
but I cannot say when –
I’m simply too busy
alone with my pen.
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