Classic Poem

Exclaim with me: " Oh World, oh Life, oh Time !"
And make each thought with busy body rhyme!
Let us within the Van of Progress sit,
And make indeed a bright outing of it —
(Not crossing a single frontier, for that's lese
Majeste, of the Majesty that stays
Himself no way at home — because he has
In fact no home, ubiquitous as jazz).
But all the same — a system that's at rest —
In spite of that we'll do our level best,
In pottering round our own backdoor show those
Who move more freely, that we freely chose
(Without any See Britain First! or What's the Matter
With your Own Backyard! or suchlike beastly chatter)
To stay at home, and " progress" in that way
(Where Yogis can, we too with self can play,
Admire our small umbilical recess —
At least as tourists we can dress — and then, undress —
And make a lovely Lido of our kitchen
Just near the sink, convenient to retch in,
When we feel queasy with the rush of wind
As the ether roars about us without stint)
Then we have Time ! Even if we've got no " place" —
And is not Time in fact just mental " space"?
We need not ever budge again from where
We first were born into a world of care.
For is not goaheadness brought to us ,
Instead of us to it? Without any fuss
We can hear the Toulouse programme from the pub —
In our time-cosmos everywhere's the hub!
It is unmodern, and expensive, too,
To move about, — in our own fat to stew!