'Too Many Poets'

Key to authors' pseudonyms

They saw the writing on the wall,
But saw not truth, just lying scrawl,
Though it was written ten foot high,
And said they were about to die!

Locked in years of rose tint schemes,
They dozed astride their T.V. screens,
Then one man with a sharper eye,
Pronounced that they had better fly.

He took himself to the high north face,
On a glacier he found a safer place,
The others stayed to be enthralled,
Which dim housemate would hear the call?

Cast adrift on their T.V. sets,
They prayed that they would not get wet,
The oceans covered them at last,
Washing away the reception masts.  

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Manchester: Palers' Convention

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