And so to Bath

And so to Bath

It is time we took the waters.

Which sounds not unlike

Samuel Pepys or

The Regency fops

Powdered and bewigged

Inhaling the sweet smell of roses

From a vinaigrette

And turning up their noses

At the sight of the unwashed.

But times change,

You can in fact,

Find real folk

Living ordinary lives

Everywhere today.

In days of yore

The landed gentry

May have referred to

The hoi-polloi.

And would have quickly

Turned away from the

Tourist class,

Who travel in coaches,

Or shiny cars.

They may even ride motor bikes,

Stand outside cafes and bars.

And they have money.

Nowadays it is the toffs

Who doff their hats

To the fat cats

And nouveau riche.

As they all stand

Happily together,

Outside the roman baths,

Watching a street performer

Sing the blues

In a cobbled courtyard.

God knows

He has to work hard

To hold their interest,

As they drink lager,

Or frappuccino.

On days like these

They tend to do

Whatever it is

That takes their fancy,

Some of them even try

To outlast the human

Statue,

Bedecked in gold,

Barely breathing,

And leaning at such

A precarious angle

He must surely fall down.

But he is not a clown

And most people give

Their money up,

Throw it into a gold painted cup

And move on.

Just a few hours

To look at the sights

Before they jump in the car,

Leave the re-furbished spa

In ye olde Roman town

With all of its history,

And set course for Stratford,

Where they can

Afford to buy

A slice of Shakespeare

And watch a tragedy,

Comedy or mystery.