London London

On a Sunday, windy and bright,
we all set out to see a sight.
A splendid show was on the cards,
They call it the Change of Guards.

Braving the winds with scarves and sweaters,
we then joined all the eager spectators.
People leaned against the barricade,
And the crowd waited for the parade.

They pressed their noses against the gates,
And caught a glimpse of the soldier mates.
The gaurds marched and then stood still,
Cameras clicked in the wind that was chill.

And then came a ringing sound,
as the royal gaurds marched around.
Flutes, drums and cymbals in the band,
indeed made the march quite grand.

Grey uniforms and black fur caps,
shiny shoes in harmonious raps,
togehter they marched, not one flaw,
the crowd stood still and watched in awe.

One gaurd amongst all those,
had a sharp and pinched little nose,
and with all the frills and stashes,
he also wore a pair of glasses!

The royal band and the drums,
In my mind the tune still hums,
but the picture that it always pecks,
is 'The Bobby who marched with specs!'