Oh, the 'winter's foil's a country within;
let's fly our software south, uncrease our frowns,
flap duvet covers, smooth out eiderdowns,
slap unseasonal smiles on the sin bin.
Don't leave it up to the world's wild weather.
Emigrate to Mexico in the play;
inhabit, heart, in Syria. Stray, stray
in climes compassion can whatever.
Go. Go. Put the finger up to Putin*;
flush Trump down the bog; leave the barking dogs;
be solar citizens; 'set the controls...'*
Agree to differ. That's enough disputing.
Let cabin fever leak out from the logs,
and all the fractions settle into wholes.
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*The great spring poem by the older Walt Whitman goes like this:-
Soon shall the winter's foil be here;
Soon shall these icy ligatures unbind and melt—A little while,
And air, soil, wave, suffused shall be in softness, bloom and
growth—a thousand forms shall rise
From these dead clods and chills as from low burial graves.
Thine eyes, ears—all thy best attributes—all that takes cognizance
of natural beauty,
Shall wake and fill. Thou shalt perceive the simple shows, the
delicate miracles of earth,
Dandelions, clover, the emerald grass, the early scents and flowers,
The arbutus under foot, the willow's yellow-green, the blossoming
plum and cherry;
With these the robin, lark and thrush, singing their songs—the
flitting bluebird;
For such the scenes the annual play brings on.
..............................................................
* As a hunger striker in one of his jails - a Ukranian Pilot, Nadiya Savchenko - did, in court today, before the judge left to consider his verdict.
*Pink Floyd :'Set the Controls for the heart of the Sun'
