To Potsherds

I wandered lonely in the lab,

Amongst the tubes, clearing the spills

When all at once I saw a bag

Of broken sherds amongst the drills

Beside the bench, beneath the shelves

I guess they won’t extract themselves.

         

Continuous as the gas that flows,

And dries the samples in their vials,

Wherefore these sherds appear who knows?

It’s like a never-ending trial:

Ten thousand Grooved Ware at a glance,

Am I caught in a bad romance?

From postholes, pits and avenue

From middens, house floors, slots of beams,

There’re always more postsherds to do:

Grit tempered vessels haunt my dreams.

I gazed - and gazed - with little thought

What wealth the sherds to me had brought

For now, whilst at the bench I stand,

Clad in white coat, with pensive stare,

It all makes sense, I understand!

I like you lots, most Grooved of Ware

And now my heart with pleasure fills

The sherds my friends, my secret thrills.

Groovy