Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.

And Now, Dear Lord, I Cannot Wait Because I Have A Luncheon Date.

And Behind Their Frail Partitions Business Women Lie And Soak, Seeing Through The Draughty Skylight Flying Clouds And Railway Smoke. Rest You There, Poor Unbelov'd Ones, Lap Your Loneliness In Heat, All Too Soon The Tiny Breakfast, Trolley-bus And Windy Street!

Too Many People In The Modern World View Poetry As A Luxury, Not A Necessity Like Petrol. But To Me It's The Oil Of Life.

Hymns Are The Poetry Of The People.

Oh Wasn't It Naughty Of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I'm Sick With Disgust. She Threww Me In Front Of The Judges, And My Silly Old Collar-bone's Bust.