Night slips in without a whisper, murmur or call,
And I find that I’m all
And with the breaking of the blue into the vivid dawn.
Half a day away,
I find myself too breathless to say.
My thoughts, my motions,
Turn the cogs to my emotions.
Clouds, a ripperling sea bed above,
Where for all the worlds love.
I would spend eternity,
Trapped in lost serenity.
Amities the tranquil calm,
That in a lifetime could never lose its charm.
Not having the screaming and shouting,
And general running abouting.
Of which I despise,
And I tell no lies,
That it’s too dark down there.
And I despair,
That, unless there’s a power shortage,
I find I am unable to see beyond Swiss Cottage.
And there are many stories I could tell;
Of the happenings at the Grosvenor Hotel.
Involving none of the egotistic footballers of which I am sick,
It was in fact Coronal Mustard in the Library with a candlestick.
Saturday, October 11, 2003