1230

1230
Your emergency is not mine!

It’s never too late
To try and frustrate
Your indifference
Is making me tense
If nonsense persists
Your face meets my fists
Please listen next time
To prevent a crime

0825

0825
A Cornish bumblebee

An August Midnight
By Thomas Hardy

I
A shaded lamp and a waving blind,
And the beat of a clock from a distant floor:
On this scene enter–winged, horned, and spined –
A longlegs, a moth, and a dumbledore;
While ‘mid my page there idly stands
A sleepy fly, that rubs its hands . . .

II
Thus meet we five, in this still place,
At this point of time, at this point in space.
– My guests parade my new-penned ink,
Or bang at the lamp-glass, whirl, and sink.
“God’s humblest, they!” I muse. Yet why?
They know Earth-secrets that know not I.

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