(from memory):
Sometimes i feel
like a priest
in a fish and chip queue,
quietly wondering
as the vinegar runs through,
what must it be like
to buy supper for two.
Roger McGough
Song For a Beautiful Girl Petrol Pump Attendant on the Motorway
I wanted your soft verges
but you gave me the hard shoulder.
Adrian Henri
though it has to be said that all the best ones are mine.
modesty <u>as well</u> as bad taste
Peter
Actually for (another) ps, there's a poem in one of those 'how-to-write-poetry' books - possibly Tennyson - about an eagle.
Found it:
The Eagle
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
[This message has been edited by peter richards (edited September 04, 2002).]
|