The men in white coats sit around the pile
of fruit they have selected, making jokes
as they discard the ones they have rejected.
And when, by some remarkable fluke,
the whole lot conforms, they sign a secret pact,
call their scribe, hide from inconvenient storms.
Later they sit, this time around a fire,
cooking and eating a warming meal,
before dancing to chanting and drums beating.
Data about their dreams is sadly lacking,
but as the night chills they huddle together,
sleep an uneasy sleep, waking as dawn's light spills
Onto their little camp. But they shiver,
for some reason finding the sun scary,
although it is at this season blinding,
It's true. There is an uncomfortable vibe
in the morning cold, as they poke their fire,
fan its flames, discuss the story to be told.
Image source: Transport of Colonial Soldiers by Isaac Israels, at Wikimedia.
OK, so the picture is not completely in step with the poem, except that someone is beating a drum, and I'm going to say that's enough. I like that quote from John Lennon about Instant Karma, written and recorded and released in a day, and although Paul and George told us themselves that what John said didn't always match reality, who is to let that stand in the way of a good meaty quote. And an excuse to quickly post, in a window between classes.
