See all the glad bags on the circling carousel –
we’ve just arrived at Heathrow; it’s a busy hell.
Airport is so crowded, carousel thirty-five:
looking round to find it, we hope we leave alive!
There’s people ev’rywhere, we don’t know where to go;
we have to get our bags, so we mustn’t be slow.
Carousel goes round and round, see my bag go past;
rushing to retrieve it – when I arrive, it’s last!
I’m pushing and shoving to reach the front and then –
yes, you guessed it, the conveyor goes round again.
I’ll stand my ground so I’ll be quick to grab it fast,
but once again I lose my place and I’m aghast!
Getting so giddy watching, I’ll follow it now,
but someone steps in front of me – drat, holy cow!
I’ve got my eyes upon it, but someone grabs first.
It wasn’t mine at all – why is my life so cursed?
At last, this time I know it’s mine – there’s my name tag.
Hooray, three cheers, rejoicing, I have claimed my bag.
Mum’s getting anxious – hers is nowhere to be seen;
was it blue or purple, or maybe even green?
Then there are the sad bags, left til last to collect –
the odd bags so broken, that have been badly wrecked.
My Dad’s big bag got lost and that is such a shame.
There’s one redeeming feature – I wasn’t to blame!
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