© At a Loose End...

© At a Loose End...

At the third stroke, it will be 9.54 and 10 seconds and my lady reckons it’s time for tea.

At the end of the day who can say what the outcome of the next election will be.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning, fawning regret, will we remember them?

At the final bell in the afternoon shall we spoon with the crème de la crème?

At times hard to handle; I am out of control and quite impossible am I – pity me.

At the 1972 Irish sheep dog trials, with smiles, I asked, ‘How many were found guilty?’

At the Star Hotel, all’s not well; the patrons are not happy ‘cause the beer’s gone flat.

At the stroke of twelve fair Cinderella, lost her feller, at a long weekend in Ballarat.

At night the trees aren’t sleeping ‘though the birds aren’t cheeping and so the hounds do bray.

At the crack of dawn when the dew on the lawn gives way to the promise of a fine winter’s day.

At the traffic lights there’s a momentary contemplation; alienation surrounds me on all sides.

At the final bell, it will be impracticable to know if what I’ve written is valid or contrived.

At the third stroke, it will be 11 am precisely and wisely we retreat to the terrace by the roses.

At the end of the rainbow you may find the Land of Oz, simply because, your partner proposes.

At the end of the street where the waters meet is a lake beside the hanging marsh

At the end of a love affair, recriminations come to bear upon an idyllic now turned harsh.

At the periphery, life is so slippery, fragile, transient; precarious yet serene.

At the movies, life is so groovy! Forget all your troubles by the silver screen.

‘At the Codfish Ball’ with Shirley Temple: a memorable song and dance with Buddy Ebsen.

At the end of the universe, although perverse, it’s rumoured there’s a restaurant to make mess in.

‘At the Castle Gate’, I must relate, was the theme for ‘The Sky at Night’ – a bright impression.

At the present time; at the moment; at this juncture: all will function as the same expression.

At a café in Casablanca; at the markets at Salamanca; at a pub in Parramatta – we say this ‘n’ that.

At a glance, you will look askance at this meaningless dance of sentences; starting with an ‘at’.

 At arm’s length when you read what’s before you; I would implore you not to break the spell.

At an educated guess, even though I won’t confess...oh, alright – it’s a mess! It’s clear I’ll be exposed at the final bell!