As I was driving down the road,

I came upon a contraflow.

“Forsooth!” say I, a name so apt,

For I was stopped there in my track.

And as sands did pass from glass to glass,

I could but wait upon my arse,

For peasant carts,weighed down with swill,

To wend their way up yonder hill.

A right o’er me is most perverse!

To move, whilst I can only snarl and curse…..

Pray, who decreed that this should be?

Oh never mind the lights gone green.