To travel they say is to journey,
To travel they say is to roam,
But distance and place is a slap in the face
When the traveller leaves his home.

Our journey to England was freezing,
Our journey to Spain was a bore.
Thinking us British, the French were malicious
When Aussies they chose to ignore.

The Germans, God help us, were nasty,
The Russians were colder than ice,
And ignoring our pleas for permission to leave
The Swiss chose not to be nice.

In Greece the locals were cautious
Of intruders polluting their shore,
The Italians were wary but also contrary,
Pinching bottoms galore.

The Chinese burned red with anger,
The Finns in the cold turned blue,
The Irish danced in a deathlike trance
As the bombs and the bullets flew.

The Scots they tried to be pleasant
But their speech was remarkably broad,
And the wind blew a gale right up to their tail
Causing more than a delicate roar.

In Japan the locals ignored us,
It was as if we didn’t exist.
Koreans were burdened by nuclear weapons
So we prudently gave them a miss.

The Kiwis were antagonistic,
Their rivalry far from a game,
Into the mud with more than a thud
They’d pitch us with no hint of shame.

The African nations were hungry,
The Indians even more so,
In Fiji the soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder
Cautioning us to go.

The Yanks at first were friendly,
To their allies they’d be true,
But the rednecks found us, they bullied and bound us,
So much for the red, white and blue.

The world is a mix of nations,
Of people with differing views,
Some are content, while others are bent
But their outlook, it’s nothing new.

A boiling, bubbling cauldron
Of fears, of hates and woes,
Of wars and attacks, striking our backs,
As into the future we go.

Our trip ‘round the world was a journey,
Our trip ‘round the world was to roam,
And it served to remind us that all that is precious
Was waiting for us back home.

By Beverley Thomson