En route to Kidderminster on a grey day
I hear my father talking to me still
Give up now. Your puny efforts will fail
Left over life is merely time to kill
The spirit is willing, the flesh frail.
The flat midlands fields and clumps of wool
Ask a question of my humanity
Everything in nature shouts ‘fool’
‘Why bother?’ they say, ‘all is vanity.’
It is the voice of Ecclesiastes
‘Your efforts are merely bluster and bluff’.
But in the fields are hidden mysteries
Simply to live and breathe are not enough
Surely it is better to rage and cry
Than just to watch the spinning world go by?
Surely it is better to rage and cry
Than just to watch the spinning world go by?
Going to a poetry gig, oddly. My dad was the world's biggest pessimist.
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