I am not sure I ever lived, except in this imagined space,
This concoction of words that perhaps make a little sense
To a kindly heart like yours.
A day is long enough to make
Some room for rumination,
Even when waiting in a queue
To join the right queue or browse
Panting up the slopes
With the wind brewing in the trees,
And the mountain line like a row
Of aged teeth decaying,
I rose at six O'clock
And hastened to Chepauk
To wait and see a Test Match, but rain began to fall.
I tried to hasten back;
Others may hack and saw,
He troubled the root
In that blue little marble
My son saw swirls
A schoolboy called Edmund Clerihew
Bentley, as known to a very few
Lovers of English, began a century ago the fad of biography
In four lines and two rhymes, a sort of verse photography.
Awake, I found my watch and strapped it on
My wrist. Though dark it was, I saw some light
Come seeping through the fissures of the night.
Thus reassured, I guessed it was ‘Today’,
A poet among us,
Moved by the sunset,
Sees in his fancy