‘Oxford’

Oxford, where Cambridge people come to live, where stuffy ‘gown’ looks down on rural accent ‘town’. That rural accent where ‘T’ sometimes ends in silence And even the ‘Archers’ cannot get it right Oxford, your misty spires bathed in comfortable Duvet Hills that keep it warm in Winter, hot and sweaty in Summer. Choking on her buses students rattle by, running down pedestrians on their way to their college cleaning job. Oxford, where the Status Quo is far from being rock ‘n’ roll, where the only rock is ‘not the boat’ as swooning down Cherwell’s leafy gliding stream we go. Sometimes we get stuck on punt poles, left behind or so blind drunk at Summer balls we leave the halls of Teddy and Maggie wondering, Oxford will we ever see thee again?