Friday, December the 3rd, 2004

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In Loopy Copse

In Loopy Copse, when I was young, all golden were the shrubs and trees. All golden I remember them, and Bonkers Maisie from the farm. Maisie was unkempt and mad, just like her brother and her dad. Her sister left them long ago. She went to join a music hall. She made it as a chorus girl and then she graced the silent screen. She looked like Edna Purviance and had a hat named after her. But Bonkers Maisie never did, for she was always dressed in rags.

The golden trees of Loopy Copse in those blue summers long ago, oh I remember them with woe as I sit here twirling my moustache. My woe is such that I may sob and mop my tears with my jacket cuff. But both my cuffs are smeared with grease, I dipped them in the soup tureen. I don't know why, I don't know when, I don't know who knocks at my door. This bombed hotel has stale air. The other guests are rakes and fops. I'm sitting in my rocking chair recalling the gold of Loopy Copse.