After the Daffodils

Discussion in 'Films, Music and All Things Artsy' started by Ex-Grenadier, May 2, 2007.

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  1. After the Daffodils
    W. Wordsworthless, Esq.

    The Graveyard,
    St. Oswald’s Church

    I’m sitting lonely on my cloud
    That floats on high o’er heaven’s hills
    When all at once, I see a crowd
    Of people without language skills.
    Beside the flats and in the park,
    Being anti-social in the dark.

    Talking and texting on their phones,
    And speaking words that they call rap.
    They seem to be each other’s clones
    Who understand this modern crap.
    Ten thousand see I at a rave,
    While I am turning in my grave.

    The rappers and the ravers chant
    While banging heads and snorting junk;
    A poet could do nought but rant
    At such a dreadful load of bunk.
    I turned and turned, but little thought
    What grief, to me, these times have brought.

    For oft when on my cloud I stay
    In vacant or in pensive mood
    These images on my mind do play.
    Which is the pain of solitude.
    For then my heart with sorrow fills
    At this lack of language skills.

    Written by Peter Fairhurst