Etruscan! Tuscan! Bohemian! Persian! Theban?
Is it a source of insolent pride
To leave dirty dishes at the low tide?
To harbour a mouse in stockings of jute
Is arguably not the preserve of the flute
On which our integuments ride
They ride through the dark to Bethnal Green
And all the places in between
Does it dismay the humble poorest
To sling fresh mud at the unwitting tourist?
Or ride through the streets in a carriage of bronze
Which (some would allege) is the province of dons
On which all our arguments ride
They ride through the dark to Fingal's Cave
And other places in between
Contributors: | Shipp, Apsley, Surlaw. |
Poem finished: | 9th November 2003 by Anon.. |