I was thinking about assisted dying and Dignitas and all that stuff, and I remembered that I’d written a poem about the true end to The Wind In The Willows. I re-read the poem and still liked it (which isn’t always guaranteed when I read my older stuff) so thought I’d post it here.
(Incidentally, if you want to read any of my older writing – and there’s a fair bit of it! – then you can find it on ABCTales.com, under the usernames Primate, Jonesey and Cloven Hoof. There’s also some on UK Authors under the username Kris)
Anyway, here’s the poem:
Heading Downstream
“Oh Ratty,” said Mole. “Are we ancient?
All wrinkled and nearing our last?
With my heart and your liver
Are our days on the river
Just memories fading too fast?
Now Badger is buried in woodland
And Toad’s in the Pond Of The Sky,
There’s only us left
And I’m feeling bereft
And I’m dreading our final goodbye.”
“Oh Mole,” said the rat. “Don’t you worry –
I’ve thought it all out, don’t you fret:
Before we are sacked
We will both make a pact
To resign and then seek out a vet.
They say that there’s one in Geneva
He lives by the lake, on the shore
We could bid him hello
And then take one last row
Before quietly shipping our oars.”
“Oh yes, my dear friend,” said old Moley
“A pact is the way to the light.”
So they set off together
Before once and forever
Rowing softly downstream to the night.
thingskristerwrote 