Sunday Supplement

In the summer and her pinafore She thought she'd love for ever more How soon things sour Past the bewitching hour she finds Herself in Winter deep inside her coat The past is just an anecdote She can't forget for it's her alphabet of time Will there be a war Will she die or will she know And find the pain of youth still shows? Like Mary Tyler-Moore She stares across the yawning tide Out of love and terrified In the Sunday colour magazine She reads a line and then she dreams Of what she'll do When she leaves you again She knows that home was once a wild unknown As always her own chaperone Catch the bus from wilderness or to Hold on tight, catch that bus Fares please, ding ding ding