The house illumined by the sun,
the rainbow on the horizon,
remind the educated eye
that all ends are not equal,
that any worthwhile history
has an unlooked for sequel.
So, for example, seagulls wheeled
above the vast and hedgeless field
where farmers spread disgusting spill
on yearly desecrated loam
mark the beginning of that hill
which climbed, we see our home;
the stagnant pond reflects the sky
above us, as our train waits by
four unprepossessing brick sheds
promising little we could want –
love, fellowship, good wine, warm beds
and (please!) deliverance from cant.
(Ours or others’).