Things tell less and less: <br />The news impersonal <br />And from afar; no book <br />Worth wrenching off the shelf. <br />Liquor brings dizziness <br />And food discomfort; all <br />Music sounds thin and tired, <br />And what picture could earn a look? <br />The self drowses in the self <br />Beyond hope of a visitor. <br />Desire and those desired <br />Fade, and no matter: <br />Memories in decay <br />Annihilate the day. <br />There once was an answer: <br />Up at the stroke of seven, <br />A turn round the garden <br />(Breathing deep and slow), <br />Then work, never mind what, <br />How small, provided that <br />It serves another's good <br />But once is long ago <br />And, tell me, how could <br />Such an answer be less than wrong, <br />Be right all along? <br />Vain echoes, desist.<br /><br />Kingsley Amis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/untitled-864/