THE  DROUGHT

 

                Have we forgotten how it is to weep,

                And taught the very clouds to curb their rain?

                Have we anaesthetised all joy and pain

                And trapped creation in this arid sleep,

                Where dreams are mean and dry-eyed spectres creep

                With begging bowls?  If we could weep again,

                 Could care sufficiently to break the chain

                 That binds our hearts and offer what we keep

                 Imprisoned there, would earth recuperate

                 The mercy in our tears?  Would fields that slept

                 Awake;  would fruit and flowers proliferate

                 And streams make music from the sobs we kept

                 Held tight in burning throats?  Tears consecrate:

                 Christ looked upon Jerusalem and wept.

 

                                    *          *          * 

 

 

A letter about London

 A thought struck me today.  May I share it with you?

For several years I've been writing these 'letters' from London.  The content of each 'letter' differs substantially from those that have gone before. London is the only constant.

But what struck me today was that this, too, has changed.  London is no longer the constant.  It, too, is in a state of total flux and none of us can foresee the outcome.

Shops that were open and flourishing a year ago are now, thanks to the pandemic, shuttered and empty.  Will they re-open one day?  For some, this is very much a matter of doubt.

Hotels, pubs and restaurants fall into the same category.  Will they have sufficient funds to re-open when the pandemic is over?  Will our local pubs operate once again as the centre of the community?  Who can tell.

Take the department stores in the West End, a feature of the area for centuries.  Will they be able to re-open now that so many of us are shopping online?  And, if not, what is to become of this large area of Central London?  Might the elegant buildings in Regent Street Oxford Street and Piccadilly be transformed into living accommodation, homes for the wealthy?

There is another factor.  Now that so many people are working from home, saving time and money previously spent on commuting, much office space will be standing empty.  Who will occupy these premises?  And what of the cafes in Central London, who provided refreshments and lunch for the office workers?  Will they, too, be driven into closure?

Neither you nor I can answer these questions.  The only certainty?  That we live in interesting times and that, like these 'letters', London will  never be the same again.