The traffic crawled - a tale of our time ?

Poem, submitted by Alan Major

The traffic crawled slowly at ten miles an hour

And sometimes it stopped altogether

And the sun it beat down with no sign of a shower

With tempers all hot as the weather

Well could it be road works? Or temporary lights

That held up the traffic so bad

Our maybe a caravan out of their sight

But frustration was making them mad

And the traffic queue up ahead round the bend

And behind them they hooted and flashed

And their tempers boiled over , again and again

As their fists on their steering wheels smashed

And they crawled, hooting, flashing, oh what a to do

They’d forgotten the countryside factor

Yes, but I were alright at the front of the queue

As I headed for home on me tractor !!!

It's not always our fault