Long ago in Walthamstowe
A man he dreamed a singular scheme,
Had no wish to join the fish
But he'd sigh, "I'd love to fly."
Sat in bed and scratched his head
So absurd to fly like a bird.
Time blew past until at last
Late one night he saw the light.
Careful hands drew up the plans
Shapes and things like curious wings,
Heirogliphics most prolific
Numbered charts with all of the parts;
Now the work starts.
He toiled for days on struts and stays
Umpteen screws and numerous glues
Harness leathers and rainbow feathers
Hinges and joints at the relevant points.
Till in the golden dawn beam sun
He saw that all the work was done;
With face aglow ran up the road
To 'Wishbone Hill' then pausing still
Cast his eyes on distant skies
And slowly moved his arms.
Slowly up then slowly down
Faster up then faster down
Faster up faster down up down up down
Until at last with swishing sound
He very gently left the ground.
Weary from his journey
Birdman circled homewards
Gliding through the sunset
He very gently floated down
to the ground . . .