I wish I lived in a caravan, With a horse to drive, like a pedlar-man! Where he comes from nobody knows, Nor where he goes to, but on he goes. His caravan has windows two, With a chimney of tin that the smoke comes through, He has a wife, and a baby brown, And they go riding from town to town. Chairs to mend and delf to sell -- He clashes the basins like a bell. Tea-trays, baskets, ranged in order, Plates, with the alphabet round the border. The roads are brown, and the sea is green, But his house is just like a bathing-machine. The world is round, but he can ride, Rumble, and splash to the other side. With the pedlar-man I should like to roam, And write a book when I come home. All the people would read my book, Just like the Travels of Captain Cook. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THOUGHTS OF A TINY PIG by DAVID IGNATOW THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 55. ST. VALENTINE'S DAY by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A VIEW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAGNA by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE RAILWAY TRAIN by EMILY DICKINSON THE DARK ANGEL by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON THE MERMAID by ALFRED TENNYSON |