I walked by a river
I hoped to see a narrowboat
It was wide water
With a ten-mile bank
Beside a busy road
I thought it would be pleasant
To drift through sparkling waves
It could be our best present
For me and you
In our quieter days
I hear the warm wind blowing
From Cold Harbour Farm
Across the railroad tracks
I hear the train then going
Turn to see who have turned their backs
It is about travel
We journey here
We journey there
Always on the move
It is about experience
A taste, a smell
A sound, an image
Always then on the lookout
It is about edges
The edge of legality
The edge of minds
Always we are pushing
As much about
What we see within
As what we see without
Always thus a legacy
I have been to New York
Also flown KLM to Amsterdam
I have seen Claude Monet’s Lilies
Also squared up the Piet Mondrian
I have had the stronger coffee
Also the pancake and the flan
I have beamed with sophistication
Also wandered; off-piste, off plan
I have handled crumpled banknotes
Also dope, weighed in by the gramme
I have leaned on the many bridges
Also travelled for free on the city tram
I have been your happy companion
Also spent time, simply as I am
I have dreamed of Outlook’s many colours
Also read street maps, as just the best I can
Byzantium, Byzantium, Byzantium
If only you knew
Either of you
If either of you knew
Of Byzantium
Our eyes are not amused
On the day of the news
Her death, her death, her death
To choose, or lose all hope, or cruise by
Byzantium
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With a rectangle and a square
The edifice was constructed
With a line and a shadow
The construction was decorated
We stand back, try to gain perspective
We close in, try to observe detail
The words are in the mother tongue
Yet we extract: A Nations History
The message was not a natural given
It is embellishment, in a place
Out of place with its surroundings
A design shipped by bankrupt people
Just as trees, without forestation
Become cluttered; they restrict
Light, and view, and growth
As do the odd buildings of the city