Can I be deterred
Only by the colour of the hunting-jacket
Can I realise the world of the rotting racket
Not starting out the way I intended
How else to be remembered
Than by the felt-trimmed fedora
And your father’s dalliance with the lady Nora
Why then to think of the impassable roads
Covered by the tide and the irascible load
Why edge towards the bets on losing horses
When truth more often lies in deeper courses
Not moving on in ways recommended
How else is that life then to be extended
Other than by the ex-army overcoat
Or misunderstandings which are always afloat
Wherever the grasslands and peat bogs meet
Young men and companions lodge their feet
As time keeps time in a dangerous dance
We follow the lines awaiting one last chance
Not ever reaching the eventual turning point
As they turn out their pocket and their hearts
The joint in the road where spiritual folk anoint
Searching the place where the restarting starts
When you come back, will you come back
With anything to gift you real fulfilment
The same as when you thought of the lack
Of anything other than wish-fulfilment
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| Christopher's Collected Works |
