I Do Wish You Wouldn't Argue With

What Fools We Are, Eh? What Fools, Sitting Here In The Sun, Singing. And Of Love, Too! I Am Too Old For It And You Are Too Young, And Yet We Waste Our Time Singing About It. Ah, Well, Let's Have A Glass Of Wine, Eh?

As I Watched The Pulsing Fire Among The Trees And Heard The Beat Of The Drum Merge And Tremble With The Voices, Forming An Intricate Pattern Of Sound, I Knew That Someday I Would Have To Return Or Be Haunted Forever By The Beauty And Mystery That Is Africa.

Remember That The Animals And Plants Have No M.p. They Can Write To; They Can't Perform Sit-down Strikes Or, Indeed, Strikes Of Any Sort; They Have Nobody To Speak For Them Except Us, The Human Beings Who Share The World With Them But Do Not Own It.

Among The Myrtles The Mantids Moved, Lightly, Carefully, Swaying Slightly, The Quintessence Of Evil. They Were Lank And Green, With Chinless Faces And Monstrous Globular Eyes, Frosty Gold, With An Expression Of Intense, Predatory Madness In Them. The Crooked Arms, With Their Fringes Of Sharp Teeth, Would Be Raised In Mock Supplication To The Insect World, So Humble, So Fervent, Trembling Slightly When A Butterfly Flew Too Close.

Gradually The Magic Of The Island [corfu] Settled Over Us As Gently And Clingingly As Pollen.