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(White Wells 1983)
How he toiled that early morning,
To the pool so crystal clear,
Where his forebears took to plunging,
Where the brave only dare.Up the moorland track he toiled,
An air of confidence crossed his brow,
When in hundreds they did come here,
Just to do the very same.See, there stands near yonder pool,
Not a hundred, only one.
Looking at the crystal water,
Fed from springs far below.Doffing topper, cloak and trousers,
Fiddling with his collar studs,
Dipped his toe in, felt the coolness
ready for his first cold plunge.As he stands there, dripping water
With a cool, contented air,
Someone stands with half filled bucket
Just to add a little flair.Then the cameras flash and click,
As he takes his watery dip.
How he wished for hota wota,
Feeling foolish, what a drip.Here, the moral of this story,
Always think before you dip.
Ask the docta of the wota,
If the wota, doctas’ you!
(Apologies to Longfellow!)
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