Cocooned in Time, at this inhuman height, <br />The packaged food tastes neutrally of clay, <br />We never seem to catch the running day <br />But travel on in everlasting night <br />With all the chic accoutrements of flight: <br />Lotions and essences in neat array <br />And yet another plastic cup and tray. <br />'Thank you so much. Oh no, I'm quite all right'. <br /> <br />At home in Cornwall hurrying autumn skies <br />Leave Bray Hill barren, Stepper jutting bare, <br />And hold the moon above the sea-wet sand. <br />The very last of late September dies <br />In frosty silence and the hills declare <br />How vast the sky is, looked at from the land.<br /><br />John Betjeman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/back-from-australia/
