Processions

A small boy, bucket in hand

Building castles in the sand

Thinking of his life that lies ahead

An engine driver, sailor, why not a king

Of the sand castle as the gypsy woman said

Taking a ride on a dinkie rail

A green engine that's old

Could be a royal procession through

Big city streets

Waving to the crowds from a sand carpet of gold

Shaking hands of the V.I.P.'s one meets

Sailing a toyboat in a rockpool

Thinking that it could be

The Queen Mary, passing the Cape Horn tip

Something majestic, sailing world wide seas

Attention please, I'm the captain of the ship

After all these thoughts and more

The boy returned to find

That the sandcastles had been washed into the sea

Head in hands, eyes full of tears

And a mixed up mind

The gypsy woman can't foresee the years