A poet's lament

Often times we've travelled on the Underground

And many times appeared to run aground.

We travel through much dreary dirt and mold

And long to see,

for real,

the Realms of Gold.

You could lie politely on the Euston concourse.
And wait until your fainting fit has passed.
But the peace and quiet and resting will not last.
Their siren has an shattering,shrieking blast.

If you want to get to Heaven by Underground,
The Danes' anti-Nazi policies were very sound
But don't go in the Tube above the ground.
That's not the place where The Light of God is found

I unravelled when I travelled dreaming from my bed --
My constituent parts in bright divisions fled.
I had needles,glue, and lots of golden thread
So I patched my heart,and then re-glued my head.

I collapsed by the stairs inside a maze
And quickly Hitlers goose-stepped round my case.
A friend turned up and gave me her solace
I was no longer just an empty, staring face.

I fell apart in St.Marylebone station loo,
But I pulled my selves together sniffing glue.
I was hoping to find a band of elastic too.
What else can a cracked up lady traveller do?

I rose through craggy clouds to my peak in Darien;
There I found a dreaming world so non-invariant.
Symbols swam by like fish freed from an aquarium,
I'd like to make access more egalitarian.

I fainted on a Tube at Holborne Station
But was helped by soldiers from the United Nations.
They saved me from emergency hospitalisation;
So we drank champagne with gentle dedication