The silence around the house
is perforated by the radio pips
as I switch on the hour’s news

and then my loneliness grows
as the reported world enters
and my scale of things is shown
to have such insignificance

my existence is low

states and men of action
do not hide from endeavors

but I do

---

Seven forty five, a mumbled ‘thought’,
the BBC re-tuned, for the overwrought:

Then ‘the weather’, to equate the accounts,
(we British bleed rain, in large amounts).

Headlines-recited, a modulation:
Slaughter of stock markets, our fascination.

Tea downed-cool as the BBC speaks,
this nation listens, to the half-scripted piques;

gone from the house, and our thoughts go astray,
these fears unsolved, by Thought for the Day.

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