Looking out upon a world
Smitten with grief and fear and war;
And seeing the poor man on the street,
With the Times for a blanket
And garbage to eat,
And seeing and seeing, but that’s all.
Perhaps fearing and hoping
My lot was not there,
And reassuring myself –
The chances are small.

Every day I look on a world,
That can fill a bum’s blanket
From cover to cover,
With the horror, some truths,
The lives and the deaths.
But a death a day keeps the sales OK,
As long as the daily death is about
Someone else.
(Death should be read about,
But not seen – and never faced.)

And I think of a death
And I think of a tomb,
But why should it scare me?
I’ve nothing to lose!