LETTER TO CONNIE 7 x 74
O connie dear, ’tis terence here
extremely heavy hearted
the letter that he longed to write
he never really started
he thought about the things you said
and wished – tho he were tired –
to seek out unused pen and pad
and write like one inspired
the days flew by, the nights went too
and all his resolution
like new year promises we make
they failed in execution
no letter yet, you wait and wait
in plain exasperation
ten thousand postmen bring the mail –
it’s just hallucination!
Until tonight, this glorious night,
when stars display their splendour
I bravely pick up pad and pen
and whisper: I surrender!
Long distant miles a maiden waits
in anxious expectation
this page must I dispatch at once
to charming destination.
O postman quick, make haste, make speed
for connie lies a-waiting
her hopes that Terence is alive
are fast evaporating!
Well,here am I alive and well
and full of youthful vigour
no furrows etch the passing tide
nor scars this life of rigour
my health is fine, I work and dine
to build up bone and muscle
the doctor says all is in shape
from brain to blood corpuscle.
’tis true I’m busy day and night
of work there is a-plenty
sometimes I feel I need a day
that lasts eight hours and twenty.
Quite often I’m on a boat at sea
my state it makes me shudder
what good is ship with mast and sail
if there’s no bloody rudder!
Some weeks ago I acted in
a play – it was a mystery
’twas written by famed agatha
(she’s better known as christie)
’twas all about ten different men
in island congregated
and one by one by one of them
are all assasinated!
The play is done,we had our fun
now back to serious labour
it’s moral science books we write
on god and man and neighbour.
’tis not as though we’re busy through
with work and work incessant
we have our fun and humour too
in manner effervescent.
So much for me, now I from you
must find out something dearie
about your joys, your ups and downs
I make a gentle query.
How goes it there? Conditions fair
in rain or stormy weather?
Quite oft I find my thoughts turn to
all nine of you together.
So Joan is back within the fold
your news left me astounded
air-hostesses should fly up high
not stay on earth a-grounded!
Pray, tell how faireth mum and dad
and Flo and Joan and Annie
and Carol, Ian, Clarence too –
in letters long and many.
From Alan, Owen, not a word
I think I have a notion
that one above in Delhi waits
the other’s on the ocean!
I’m glad you spend your college days
in living and in learning
and learning by your own mistakes
just which needs what discerning
about the serious things you write
be sure they’re no distraction
to share my life with all you feel
to me gives satisfaction
but hark, ’tis time. I must be gone
I feel I’ve taxed my IQ
accept this way a brother says:
look dear, how much I like you!
For thee I’d scale the highest peak
or fight with forms gigantic
for thee with hands behind my back
I’d swim the wide Atlantic!
I go, I go. I must conclude
this rather strange epistle
with love to one and all at home
I beg to plead dismissal!