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.