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He’ll stand and stare as if transfixed
He’ll gaze with eyes glazed by the latest fix.
The aurora borealis in a field in Kent?
He loves the country and all that’s there
Bathed in false beauty by a psychedelic glare.
The parents, too, have time on their hands
Though rarely to commune with Nature.
They’ll reflect on their reflection in the glass
They’ll stand on their heads in their Yoga class
They’ll join Weight Watchers and have a ball
Marking their card in the bingo hall.

Life is empty
Life is bare
If we don’t make time
To stand and stare.

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