Sunday, 28 September 2014
"Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom friend of the maturing sun."
Yet Keats ne'er knew the joys of cars and bootfulness;
Just horse and cart, to take him for a run.
When winter came, no cosy down-filled quilts,
No television, Kindle, mobile phone.
No holidays in trembling huts on stilts,
No social networks, when he felt alone.
Only the mists and fruitfulness remain,
And very soon - who knows? - they may be gone.
For global warming means nothing's the same;
Yet still, we humans seem to struggle on.
And yet I know that at this moment, I
Could do with Keats, to help with this Magpie...
(With thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for the picture.)