Lord Soper

downloadlord soper
When I was young and handsome in lonely London town.
For solace of my spirit to Hyde Park I’d go down.
And there at Speaker’s Corner  free speech was in full flow.
And a hungry soul might  hop aboard and let the sadness go.
 
The issues, they were high and fine,  Immigration, Ban the bomb, 
Apartheid, Euthanasia, Bangladesh, Strontium.
And any man who owned a box and spoke the English tongue
Could build a castle in the air and converse with everyone.
 
The first one to fill my eye was a giant Irishman
He had found religion, all evil could withstand
His God , not a tailor, could not understand
How such a very  small coat fit so big a man
 
And if Benny, the heckler, would try to raise the sneer
“Now Benny that’s enough from you – I’ll come down and clip your ear!” 
Eschewing valour for discretion, Benny would lope away,
A hyena on the prowl, for a more enlightened prey.
 
The next was an Englishman, he liked to stir it up.”When in Rome be Roman, and do as Romans do,
or else get out of England, go back to Timbuktu.”
And he could handle Benny if he tried to open up,
“I’ll use your wiry hair, boy, as a scrubber for my cup.”
 
And with the sunlight now cascading,
Its blessing through the air,
From China, the Indies, Africa, tourists came to stare
To wonder and to marvel at freedom’s  bosom  bare.
 
The cameras clicked on incident and high and low debate,
And no blood spilt – t’was holy, this side of heaven’s gate.
And to cap it all Lord Soper, a man both good and true,
His mind filled with a pure white light, and a sense of humour too.
 
He would first rephrase your question more articulate, more refined,
Than answer it succinctly both rigorous and kind,
And smiling down benignly on inferior intellects,
Yet according always, evenly, to each his  due respect.
 
And Benny would never fence with him, engage his repartee,
He had seen too many pretenders fall to the Lord’s epee.
Myself I never listened close to Soper’s true attest,
I never knew  spoon feeding compare to a mother’s breast.
 
And belong to a Celtic breed that don’t acknowledge sin,
And  naturally run  contrary, are wefted hard agin.
But I loved those hazy afternoons, melancholy eased  to joy,
When  reverie rekindled the innocence of a boy.
 And the times at Hyde Park corner when I wandered there to seek
What a lonely soul hungers for and the strength for another week.
 
 
Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s