1047(B) Oxford Fragments

The Bodleian Library might make me afraid -

          But seeing Owen's first attempt

          At Anthem for Doomed Youth I scent

A mind, like mine, wrestling each shade

Of meaning, weighing up each word, he tries

          Until from nowhere they appear,

          Strange answeres to an atheist's prayer

Perfecting the verse as they arise.

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Ask have got their autumn menu in -

          Thick, chunky minestrone,

          Ravioli ai porcini -

On a chilly night it's just the thing!

                          - or not.

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When I'm alone existence turns to verse

And every second thought becomes a line.

How dull my mind must be if all the worst

The world can throw at us ends up in rhyme!

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Two days away and verse explodes like puss

          Escaping from an un-lanced boil

          Gushing forth without the toil

Of squeezing it or making any fuss.

Brian Hick November 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 28.11.23