My, my
Beautiful mornings. And wet grass -
Oh, hello you lot! You fabulous lot!
Lying in 'til noon in your soot-washed townhouses
Tall, pumping chimney smog and fruit stained letters into the London sky,
I see you - Miss Vanessa, Miss Woolf, Forster, Fry!
How we all swarm about this little town now!
Look how I eat pomegranates and write prose in your name.
Look how I put on sturdy boots, and totter from square to square -
Admiring this honeyed writer's air.
Oh, evening all, lights of London, subdued spring-time!
Eucalyptus suburbs, just a short walk from bedlam and grime.