Ancients
Jeremy1012
Posts: 7,170
I sit quietly,
mostly thinking of old movies,
of Roundhay Garden, amongst many,
and you know it seems so tragic,
forgetting that the people are old now,
or dead, the best of them.
Theirs is a startling beauty
I think, and I fold my legs
up, and sit quietly
while the others pour in out of the tunnels,
at Moorgate and Angel.
Amongst the echoes up and down
I try to trace an older London,
dead.
'Meet me at Whitechapel, George Lusk
I beg you show me history'
And I sit sadly and think
about my role to play.
There is a vagueness
about myself which I hope
to be coaxed.
mostly thinking of old movies,
of Roundhay Garden, amongst many,
and you know it seems so tragic,
forgetting that the people are old now,
or dead, the best of them.
Theirs is a startling beauty
I think, and I fold my legs
up, and sit quietly
while the others pour in out of the tunnels,
at Moorgate and Angel.
Amongst the echoes up and down
I try to trace an older London,
dead.
'Meet me at Whitechapel, George Lusk
I beg you show me history'
And I sit sadly and think
about my role to play.
There is a vagueness
about myself which I hope
to be coaxed.
"I remember one night at Muzdalifa with nothing but the sky overhead, I lay awake amid sleeping Muslim brothers and I learned that pilgrims from every land — every colour, and class, and rank; high officials and the beggar alike — all snored in the same language"
0