
On an Exmoor farm worked a boy called Ted
He drove a tractor all shiny and red
Out in the fields he’d work all day
Ploughing the earth and gathering hay
The farmer said now come here my lad
Tis about time a wife you had
I offer to you my daughter Sue
She would be just right for you
I thankee kindly Sir was his reply
But I do bat on the other side.
Stine86Engel@pixabay.com.



Aproaching the twilight of my earth bound time I made a personal pilgrimage to the Tuscan countryside of my youth. The farmhouse was strikingly familiar, memories came flooding back. Despite the passage of over fifty years I still held the fantasy that as I approached the stable door that familiar long blonde nose framed with gold, would peer out and in that curiously American accent my great friend, with his own particular lip-smacking sound would greet me as before; ready to offer advice and his own style of philosophical thought. Sadly it was not to be, “Mister Ed,” the wonderful talking horse was long gone to the glue factory in the sky.
