I poled the punt up to the bank,
To smell the flowers, rank on rank,
A field of yellow, vibrant, true,
Too beautiful to tiptoe through,
I moseyed gently round the edge,
Heading for a sheltering hedge,
Near which to spread my picnic out,
A fine pork pie, a glass of stout,
And then a juicy peach or two,
Oh what a life, oh what a view.