I am rather fond of up
And equally of down.
East and West go endlessly
When going out of town.
North, of course, is limited,
For when you’re northest North,
If you keep going straight,
Moving, not to hesitate,
With grim grin on your mouth,
You’ll find that you
Can only view
That you are going South.
These features of your movement are
Particular to planets,
The habitat of you and me
And bats and cats and gannets.
For if you wander in the stars
Or even venture out towards Mars
Very far from all boudoirs
You’ll find no trace of up,
And down is just as scarce.
You cannot use a glass or cup,
All liquids float in wobbly spheres
To end up on the walls as smears,
Realizing your worst fears
That you must then mop up.
Jan Sand here 
Hickory dickory dock, the mouse ran up the clock…an old nursery rhyme.
The London Bridge has become outdated or perhaps brought to new life.
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