Ad Nauseum

I could not end it better, if I cared For what I love is not the constant now But the changing to become There is no beauty ad nauseum While the sun drinks from the cup of flowers I remembered that when a friend wrote: To hell with golden daffodils. It was a perfect way to end the romantic fervour This exalted view of the dilapidated self I thirst for the better age like a parch for water And hear it trikkling rock heart down To unchanging pool that feeds the stagnant town About the second of the healing Christ. (not a parody of the great, but a tribute to the wit of Keith Bickersteth)