Childhood Is Measured Out By Sounds And

I Have A Vision Of The Future, Chum. The Workers Flats In Fields Of Soya Beans Tower Up Like Silver Pencils, Score On Score.

Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.

A Whispering And Watery Norfolk Sound Telling Of All The Moonlit Reeds Around.

Too Many People In The Modern World View Poetry As A Luxury, Not A Necessity Like Petrol. But To Me It's The Oil Of Life.

And Behind Their Frail Partitions Business Women Lie And Soak, Seeing Through The Draughty Skylight Flying Clouds And Railway Smoke. Rest You There, Poor Unbelov'd Ones, Lap Your Loneliness In Heat, All Too Soon The Tiny Breakfast, Trolley-bus And Windy Street!