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In Search of Ugliness


                                                                                                            Drummore
                                                                                                      Reflections of a Londoner

                                                                                                          Search as I may
                                                                                                   Along the length of the Rhinns
                                                                                                       I can find no ugliness
                                                                                                       In God’s creation there.

                                                                                                       Man has not ventured
                                                                                                      Across these sands of time
                                                                                                         With his towers of
                   Revolution’s the solution and might is right –                                       Glass and concrete –
                  Don’t bother with reason, get in there and fight.                                     All remains sublime.
                     If you can’t use language use your boot –                                         Beauty is paramount.
                   If you can’t use reason get in there and shoot.                                      The braes, the lochs,
                                                                                                      The glens are as they were
                    Where did we go wrong, George, in ’84? –                                             Since the first day
                       What restraining influence can we                                             God’s hand fused the world.
                                now look for?                                                            No ugliness there.
                       Restraints are off, the reins are loose.
                         Mass your pickets, shout abuse.                                                A gentle hand it was
                                                                                                       That created the sky –
                        Bear the teeth and twist the jaw –                                       No cumulus to threaten those below
                             Is this the face of ’84?                                                    But gentle cirrus.









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