Britain's National Poetry Day
It's Britain's National Poetry Day Hip! Hip! Hooray!
Stay? Which nation is this to serve any dish
we are at least four if not one or two more,
but in these wetlands of these isles I see a draught
of what to write, to rhyme, to scan and everything else a poem must stand.
What one can say is that this muse is not asleep or dead as we are all poets
even if we slumber to feel, to think, to say something interesting apart from writing
about this beautiful Indian summer's day after tombstone skies or can't be bothered
to get of out bed drizzle far too lukewarm to be real rain that used to reign in
England and now is being over thrown by a royal republic of dry summer days that
cheer us all up until we unnecessarily bin British Summer Time for Greenwich Mean
Time so mean for most Britons just to please some north Britons, many but not all
decry to be so darker dangerous evenings so it be, but against our will - hey! the
Michaelmas Daises our in beautiful, delicate bloom as leaves dance to carpet
pavements, parks, fields and gardens galore to thank God or Nature for the Fall.
Copyright © Peter Dorr