There are just so many of them
And they all have ideas.
Do you know how I’ve scraped and trawled
For a tuft
That hasn’t been trodden, retrodden,
Rucked over by sixteen pairs of aluminium-studded boots?
But now I think I’ve got it –
Just in time, too.
And I tell you:
One unplucked wisp of green
Is worth a mudded life
In sullied nails.
‘In a perfect world I would be perfect, world.’
Let’s talk long-term goals,
I mean really long-term,
Once the papery child has chewed the cud
And we’ve becked our metal ravens home to brood;
Once the five-day-week is ground to crud
And my neighbours reside round my longitude.
Then what will we do?
I suggest we create and love, love and create:
Sculpt towers to tower the empire state,
Write novels to crystallise human fate,
Paint portraits no honest heart could berate;
Eat fruits fed by oblivion’s river
And thank Earth for the time that you have with her.