by David Roderick

The written scroll.

Positive outlook on place and purpose,
Shall banish those depressive thoughts.
I am the master of my courses,
Careering through the heather and grass.

As I trundle, as I dawdle,
Loping through the day, all long;
I shall gambol, without striding:
Strolling thither, without sighing,
Winding through the day. A song,
Shall ring, and sound,
The horn, that blares though:
A calling, to the rushing men.
A throng; a crowd of choir and churches
Pealing thus, the bell along.

A dog shall stop, beside the gate stile,
Happy thus; the day shall be nigh,
To evening time, when night shall fall;
And time shall then continue to stall,
Fulfilling fate: the written scroll.