and peppered with arrows, but the fool has wound me
in like a bobbin in cotton, entwined me,
jarring sounds - not easy on the ears,
these harsh tumultuous cacophonies,
It would have been nice
to have left the head on the stick,
something to gnaw on at least.
They tell us to know ourselves first,
Ok and then what?
Second is something else again
Within your golden galaxy of freckles,
the constellation Ursa Major hides,
Behind its veil your fortune beckons,
Each day your awakening desire
was to dance through Oxford’s dreaming spires,
To eat its tea shops’ dainty scones,