There are bad times just around the corner,

The horizon’s gloomy as can be;

There are black birds over

The greyish cliffs of Dover,

And the rats are preparing to leave the BBC.

We’re an unhappy breed

And very bored indeed

When reminded of something that Nelson said,

And while the press and the politicians nag, nag, nag

We’ll wait until we drop down dead.

To hear the song go to

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCZCv98XKFs

R L Stevenson     To Any Reader

To Any Reader       Robert Louis Stevenson

As from the house your mother sees

You playing round the garden trees,

So you may see, if you will look

Through the windows of this book,

Another child, far, far away,

And in another garden, play.

But do not think you can at all,

By knocking on the window, call

That child to hear you. He intent

Is all on his play-business bent.

He does not hear; he will not look,

Nor yet be lured out of this book.

For, long ago, the truth to say,

He has grown up and gone away,

And it is but a child of air

That lingers in the garden there.