Poem
I Scanning the lost horizon Keeping our eyes on A place called Hope Hoping to see a distant sail Praying that fair winds prevail To take us there Where There might be roses. Or delving inside Nowhere to hide In the reed-bed worlds Of our being Seeing Shadows slide No place to hide At the blind bends We are fleeing. II Concrete dust Blowin’ in the wind Agony upon agony. Tears like blood Streaming. Huddled children Dreaming Of quiet bedrooms And plates of food At a place called Hope Still screaming. III The iceman cometh Immaculately dressed With waxen skin Who can tell what lies within? Resentment festers like sepsis Padlocks secure the exits Does he care a fig For the lads now gone? Cannon fodder every one… And where oh where is Hope? Gone to heaven Like The Pope. from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/DJMfEUG