This Book is written by Arthur Osborne.
I cry the truth of Man
And the thunderous Silence of God
In an old, tired world
Where the poets write about dirt and drains
In poems that sound like prose.
Afraid of joy they are!
Afraid to be glad!
Afraid to shout and sing,
Afraid of youth and love!
They have grown old and grey,
With ditchwater blood and sophisticate minds.
The singing season dawns again
And rhyme makes glad the hearts of men.
Heaven is so close to earth today
You need but twitch a veil away
And all is wonder undefined
In the clear sky of a cloudless mind.