Tigers, Tigers, burning brightly. Molotov cocktails exploding nightly. I doubt that I shall ever see a tree that’s free of doggy peel

Are values really valuable? Opinions really real?

Are calculations calculable? Do we say what we feel?

Paradise lost by the unemployed, like drinking beer you’ve not enjoyed, or wearing politically Tory hues while faithfully paying your union dues. What is love, if not emotion? Does your dog show you devotion?

Can they really employ diplomatic aplomb, to explain using the Atom-bomb?

Who really has the courage of conviction, to see the humble truth of strange prediction?

Asking themselves if the world we live in can take much more before she gives in? Are we real or honest, or even fair to be well-fed here while they’re starving there? Do we think, or feel, or even mind that blissful ignorance isn’t kind?

A poet’s lot a happy one? Is writing poetry really fun? Satirical but true to life, like criticising next-door’s wife,