Get Out of My Field

"Get out of my field", she yelled,
And though I did aggrieve her,
I was more aggrieved by all I smelled,
Thanks to my fierce hay-fever.

I drove home thankful I could run,
And managed to escape her;
My thoughts turned to the setting sun
And I put pen to paper.

I tried to write verse much like Horace (he
Of songs sweet as the Sirens'),
But it always turns out more like Morrissey,
With rhymes contrived as Byron's.

Feeling I was fully healed,
I walked along the Cam --
I saw another sunlight field,
And put it on Instagram.