deepundergroundpoetry.com
January
Muffled, huddled, scarfed, with narrowed eyes,
Our shoulders hunched, our noses red and raw,
We trudge up Chiswick High Road for supplies,
Like troops after some hard-fought, bitter war.
We see the desolation all around,
The damage wrought by Winter’s long campaigns,
The bare, black trees, the barren, iron ground,
The floods and breakdowns, power cuts, cancelled trains.
Our uniforms of hats, caps, hoods, coats, boots
Are dull and shapeless, but we hardly care,
If you stay warm you couldn’t give two hoots
What other people think of what you wear.
But in our hearts, ‘How long, Oh Lord,’ we sing,
Till February and some promise of the Spring?’
Our shoulders hunched, our noses red and raw,
We trudge up Chiswick High Road for supplies,
Like troops after some hard-fought, bitter war.
We see the desolation all around,
The damage wrought by Winter’s long campaigns,
The bare, black trees, the barren, iron ground,
The floods and breakdowns, power cuts, cancelled trains.
Our uniforms of hats, caps, hoods, coats, boots
Are dull and shapeless, but we hardly care,
If you stay warm you couldn’t give two hoots
What other people think of what you wear.
But in our hearts, ‘How long, Oh Lord,’ we sing,
Till February and some promise of the Spring?’
Published 27th Jan 2012
| Edited 29th Dec 2013
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9th Jul 2012 00:12am
12th Jul 2012 9:20am
16th Aug 2013 7:48am
If you stay warm you couldn’t give two hoots
What other people think of what you wear.
But in our hearts, ‘How long, Oh Lord,’ we sing,
‘Till February and some promise of the Spring?’
Worlds self-contained and worlds of sensation to which all can relate. When one follows the other it's a tight rhythm of feeling.
What other people think of what you wear.
But in our hearts, ‘How long, Oh Lord,’ we sing,
‘Till February and some promise of the Spring?’
Worlds self-contained and worlds of sensation to which all can relate. When one follows the other it's a tight rhythm of feeling.
