Rambling Fred
Excuse my rambling on so,
but my style ought to be
consonant with the theme of these lines
a tramp called rambling Fred.
Knowing where all roads lead eventually,
takes time to enjoy the slendour
more than Solomon's in field and hedge-row.
Sleeping in ditches, he can claim the best
of precedents, but what does he do for sex?
Every choice involves some sacrifice,
that every high-powered executive
doth know, but perhaps he's some kind of priest
or friar belonging to the Grand Order of
Human Kind. To him, whether he says so or no,
nature is a temple with trunks for pillars.
Does that make him a symbolist like Baudelaire?
Do you think he's heard of Ariosto?
"'Arry 'oo? No use asking me, mate.
Never 'ad an eddy-cation! Spare 50P?"
Yet, despite it all, he's rich
on survival and a cuppa char.
For social security purposes
he's got an address in Hitchen,
but still prefers to do odd jobs
or cadge off friends in St. Albans.
Then hasn't he 'dropped (or 'opted') out'?
True, his productivity is low, but
economists take note - he is a pioneer
in low consumption. His example may thus
help us overcome the world energy crisis.
What does he do when caught in a storm?
Though fast cars splash dirty water
in his face, something a churchman
might call grace, sustains him.
Swish-! That was
The Lordship's Rolls.
Thoughts of revenge?
No, they are far behind,
for if you really believe
wisdom can stand
on its own seven feet
there's little inclination left
to expend your energies on anything less
than the quest for life's true meaning.
Time is a butler
who never quite
loses track of the household accounts.
Even lords and ladies
must eventually
muck in with the queen bee
and worker ant.
Copyright © Julian Scutts | Year Posted 2017
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