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
