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. ...