As I was (not) going to St. Ives

As I was (not)

going to St. Ives,

I thought I’d think upon my many lives;

the one where I was just a newt;

that season hanging as a fruit;

the lifetime spent waiting for Godot’s what;

the shortest day, as a Mayfly,

that I’d almost forgot;

the long half-of-an-hour trying vainly to survive;

or the hundred and twenty short years when Moses was alive;

and afternoons drinking gaily with my pals;

or night-time flights with a school of owls;

the briefest tenure as a living thing;

or a long, long, life sowing, then harvesting,

then sowing and harvesting,

as my father and son, wife and daughter,

had, and have, for centuries, done.

Having thought upon my many lives,

I then thought about all the times,

I had actually gone

to St. Ives.

TBC

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