It was Tchaikovsky at the tube station this morning
As, I sleepy-headed, tottered down the crumbling steps.
The music woke my senses, raised me from my dream
To skip in sweet contentment down the escalator.
Music hath charms that warm commuters’ hearts
As office-wards they glumly trudge and trek
But choose it wisely, stationmaster: Do they wish
To march along to jingoistic strains of Pomp and Circumstance?
And should the soulful strains of Missa Solennelle
And Pathetique add yet more gloom to imminent austerity?
Just plump for Strauss and workers then will waltz
Oblivious of the doom and doleful drudgery ahead
And face the future buoyed by upbeat froth and frippery.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem