I was wandering alone in the park
just before it was getting dark,
when a passing thought came to me
how lucky birds were to be free.
I wanted then to stop and stare
at a pony, and a grey mare,
and I quote a very famous ode
which came into mind as I strode.
I asked aloud, with no-one there, ‘What is this life if full of care?’
Just now the lilacs aren’t in bloom
all before his little room,
and from his flower beds I think
have gone the carnation, and the pink,
and in his borders well I know
poppies and pansies no longer blow.
Grantchester, oh Grantchester!
There should be peace and quiet there.
Rupert Brooke would have a fit
if he went back to visit it. Continue reading →