The words naughty and nice,
and sometimes nice and naughty;
fipple flutes threading a tune,
thin as glass and haunty;
berry-bright beads of sound
strung in a rhythmed dance;
watch them, hold them, love them -
this is your only chance.
For the song will fade to silence,
and the poem fall to air;
you must wrench your mind from
your numb behind
on its bloody uncomfortable
chair...
(May,
1986)
