Friday, 29 August 2014


Lost on the way to paradise
Too many leaves of grass
Making everything seem funny
Like a divine comedy.

I saw rats follow the Pied Piper,
And some of Possum’s cats,
As I wandered lonely as a cloud,
Somewhat haughty, somewhat proud.

It was growing dark when
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said: ‘Do not go gentle into that good night.’
‘I thought you might want a hero,’ I replied, ‘An uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one.’

But the traveller heeded me not,
Proceeded limping, talking rot:
‘If you can keep your head when all about you…’
‘Silence, sir!’ I cried, ‘Cease gibbering, you fool.
Where in hell have you come from?’

Dark Satanic Mills, thought I, as then,
Tight-lipped, the stranger made no reply.
As I passed by
‘Them good old boys drinking whiskey and rye,
Singing this’ll be the day that I die…’

Quickly on my way,
To myself, I did say: That’ll Be The Day.’
But knew it was a lie.
Midway this way of life we’re bound upon,
I woke to find myself in a dark wood.