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And still i drive - part one
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And sadly...i start to drive. Through the unremarkable village with its tall Georgian Bay window panes, lightless, devoid of visages; outwardly staring back at my Abject countenance with detached contempt and utter disdains. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And i start to drive. But arriving at the brew i am compelled to ease upon The pressured brake, For, at the slowly closing level-crossing with its red lantern gate, The tolling bell insists i stop...and patiently wait. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... As once again i prepare to drive. At last, in rapid haste, the late commuter train Has rattled by - Within:The snoozing jostled crowds and deceitful Drunken brokers that boozily sigh. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not lie. Away now from Littlehamptons smothering, towered, Blue-stepping climes, Where, high upon high, wheeling fat-bellied gulls With angry squawks viciously dispute their scavenged finds. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not die. Motoring downwards to ancient Aruns sheep-strewn Meadows and thin grass plains; Past black flint-knapped walls girdling squat Tudor abodes; Along the oak and Elm treelined roads And winding green verged lanes. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And still i drive. Past the dimly lit little ramshackle station where you welcomed him in; Here gently retiring Larkin did once alight To muse at a noble dukes tomb And his boastful castle of grey, hewn-stone might! Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not cry. Travelling alongside these thorny lines of Hawthorn hedge, Where the cunning Stoat and slinking Weasel reside, That do so ably divide A long forgotten, once bustling, Feudal countryside. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars shall not deny. Each side: Fields of Harvest mouse and blackened Vole Beneath the hushed, brown feathered wing - So rips the sharp beak! So deathly the talon! Swooping upon the heath where brown Linnets sing. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And still i drive. Following the deep sided Rifes where the farmers boy In olden days did so joyfully run - And wade the sharply tinkling shallow Bournes with excitable Barking hounds and readied hunting gun. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not lie. Standing upright, like troops aside their barrack beds, the ranks of stiffly rattling thatching reeds encouraging Spearwort and sedge; Where the chugging long-legged hens slide across slow glides: Thus cleverly disguise and hide their speckly eggs. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not die. And still i drive. Across the hushed and vigilant lands of Silvery streams Where glistening otters, safely holted, Whistle within their slumbering dreams. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not cry. And still i ride. Past the frozen woods of blasted trees Sheltering the demure deer shying from night time chill; And tumbling badgers rolling at ease Upon dry-cracked carpets of rustling, black spotted, molding leaves. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars shall not deny. From ancient glade to ancient glade Where a Gaulic conquerer made an Anglo-Saxon a slave; And here this Norman dismounted and stood, Domesday within his grasp, his thumb between a parchment page. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And still i drive. Exhorting upon my labouring engine to gain the crest of yet another leaping hill; Below: Globular luminosities, distant blobs, sleeping hamlets, Dwindling narrow cornered streets, Misted frills so vacant and still. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And still i drive. Accompanied by the gleeful, ever gurgling sounds That wind their way down the sloping downs To unselfishly feed the constant demands of the neat, red-shingled, West Sussex towns. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And still i drive. Under this vastness of great yawning cosmic sublimes Ebbing upon the waves of galactic oceans swelling above: Straddled by eternal Orion with belted sword and terrible club! Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And still i drive. For as i pass those goodly villages and towers, sneaking a peek, I look out over the dark outlined shapes and spires: Wonder i upon that furrowed brow, that crimson cheek - Did you quietly cry, blaze and rage, or fall you into deep troubled sleep? Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... And still i drive. But sunrises horizons will surely arrive; And i feel so weak as i readjust myself to the reclined seat. For i have miles and miles to drive Before that welcoming bed that i do most earnestly seek... Lends to me - and sweeps away my exhausted feet! Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not lie. My heavy heart embedded like an anchor deep within Your reef of sighs; As motoring over Portsbridge creek my engine flies: Little painted craft pushing laboriously against the current Of a Solents double tide. A brief glimpse of a lit up bridge, a safe harbour: The beautiful river Hamble Where the millionaires yachts reside Secured and snugly moored Against a picturesque quayside. Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... But stars do not die. Standing tall and proud, refuting Hampshires Pompey winds, Beached "Sails of the South" of wide fame renown; When, rushing in: resounding waves of indifferent sounds - Crashing over Portseas spray-lashed rocks to remorselessly pound!
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