Mango Walk

they're always late only the top is green

below they've budded with a reddish sheen

but all i know's the sight gives me relief

once more we're past the season of slow grief

and watch as down the street the youngsters preen

in repetition of an ancient scene

knowing the heat of summer won't be brief

what's left inside must still be given voice

to sing of what has been and what must come

that's honest truth the whole and not some part

since what we do is really not our choice

but what we must add to the human sum

out of our knowledge and by gentle art

frustrate our thought it's not that they are lies

nor traps and gluepots that we might devise

for maximum confusion of the great

and not so clever who would pass the gate

to make themselves seem honest to our eyes

for a short season till they get the prize

and can then smile unburdened by all freight

there is much honour in sticking to fact

in simple truthful measuring of all

that needs be said before the earnest crowd

but yet the ones who think silence is tact

and fail to understand the urgent call

are those with greatest need to hear things loud

we see these blooms that were not there last night

and hearts are gladdened by this joyful sight

such lovely touches a fine day can bring

with the whole world brought into proper swing

nature's true colours turned honestly bright

after soft rain that seemed for once just right

both mind and heart demand to shout and sing

order will pass we know but for this day

we take the kindness as a goodly gift

one all the better since it soon will pass

into oblivion as is still the way

of all those living things which move so swift

from blazing sight to underneath the grass

when the horizon beckons us to flee

out past the forest deep into the haze

for those indoors whose eyes are all aglaze

with lack of vision there's a thing to see

we find no limits on these warming days

our minds are liberated from the maze

of ordinary tasks we choose to be

out past the forest deep into the haze

where all of life has changed in this new phase

the rules are different both for bird and tree

we find no limits on these warming days

where light and colour mingle in one blaze

while heart and mind in peace have to agree

out past the forest deep into the haze

breaking the silence in melodious phrase

one chant of joy from mountain down to sea

we find no limits on these warming days

out past the forest deep into the haze

as when a child eats rubbish from a skip

or dumb inanity escapes some lip

or when the worst express themselves with vigour

for i love best good honest thought and rigour

and want life to improve at a smart clip

to have a world with neither chain nor whip

where no one will be called a slave or nigger

this is a future all can understand

and tightly hold in each understanding

where gold is not a synonym for worth

and help is to be found from every hand

while every boat comes tinto a safe landing

where what we note of colour size or shape

becomes the means by which honest escape

from what is known and what we can descry

by normal means will happen by and by

for each of us the record on the tape

is not the whole we're not out of the scrape

just when we we think the story has to die

so let the note be sounded once for all

while the conductor smiles at his good task

for we have taken on the cloak of grace

by overcoming each pain of the fall

from mortal height to these shores where we bask

in warmth and joy beyond the cold embrace

even to those who will not trust their eyes

who weighted down by hope and by surmise

have given little thought to the campaign

and left the door quite open to the spies

the circle's now completed that is plain

for those who come here seeking rapid gain

and always eager to hurt or despise

the slow and gentle baffling them with lies

the circle's now completed that is plain

that's our plain duty and it is enough

to get us our redemption at long last

we're only part of the supporting cast

whose job it is to murmur words of fluff

observe the future and record the past

while others move about the world so fast

they seem like angels yet we call their bluff

to get us our redemption at long last

our task's not simple though we have been classed

among the lesser folk the job is tough

observe the future and record the past

note who showed fear and who survived the blast

that changed the world write all fear no rebuff

to get us our redemption at long last

though there are horrors we'll not stand aghast

nor yield to silence or fear of the rough

observe the future and record the past

to get us our redemption  at long last

with greasy age but never quite can fade

into disuse there's an unspoken trade

that does not need the ruler or the scale

but measures all those things that must avail

to keep us steady when we call for aid

the ones who never come out to parade

but without whom the enterprise would fail

these actions have the qualities of rite

imbued with meaning sanctified by age

yet all the agents seem such normal folk

people who sleep through the short hours of night

would not be caught dead strutting on the stage

but will not bend beneath the whip or yoke

is the clear voice that says the course is set

from west to east and there is none to let

down the lines nor to put the candles out

when storm's upon us rattling hard the spout

so half asleep and too late to regret

the cost of excess calm and price of sweat

we still confront the truth of pain and doubt

less certain that the world to which we'll wake

shall be the one in which we went to sleep

no matter what the colour of the skies

we live to understand the great mistake

to learn about just what we get to keep

and what to make of the long stream of lies